


Those Embers left

by lifewhatisthat, Mediocrite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 2018 Reaper76 Big Bang, Flashbacks, M/M, Medical Procedures, Military Backstory, Minor Character Death, PTSD, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Possible Body Horror, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, medical AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifewhatisthat/pseuds/lifewhatisthat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mediocrite/pseuds/Mediocrite
Summary: wildfirenoun [ C ] /ˈwaɪld.faɪr/Definition: " fire that is burning strongly and out of control on an area of grass or bushes in the countryside" Source:  Cambridge Advanced Learner's Dictionary & ThesaurusOxygen, Heat and fuel,  these three conditons allow a fire to develop with devastating consequences for nature and man. A discarded cigarette, a small ember is enough to lay waste to wide areas of nature.When someone throws such an ember towards Dr. Jack Morrison the consequences remain to be seen. One thing is clear, his mind is still stuck in arid climate, the fire just might burn too hot to salvage anything.Features: Angela as a good friend, Sombra & Jesse as Wingmen and one Gabriel Reyes who is burning hotter than the sun.Or: The hospital AU nobody asked for.With beautiful Art by the wonderfullifewhatisthat





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> GCS - Glasgow Coma Scale -> Estimates the possible brain damage between 0-15 The lower the worse  
> ATLS - Advances Trauma Life Support  
> Pneumothorax - basically ruptured Lung  
> CCT- cranial CAT Scan  
> MRT - Magnetic resonance tomography  
> Artery - a line into an artery, used for real time blood pressure measurement. No injections into arteries EVER.
> 
> Special thanks to: EdgeLady for Beta-ing. I am sorry for the comma inflation, I really am.

His pain is generally worse in the mornings. Serving as a reminder of the strain he put on his joints all those years ago. And, while it does get better with physical activity,  a dull ache remains like a silent companion, unwanted, ungrateful and biting into his bones.

On the better days he ignores it, like his nightmares, on bad he desperately wants to rip out the pain in any way possible, take the shrapnel out and  _ finally heal. _

 

He’d opened a can of worms too many in his life however, thus he endures.

 

Right now, standing in examination room three, Jack Morrison is mostly tired. Something that tends to happen if one does not get proper sleep in several days, often associated with working shifts. He would be lying if he claimed  he did not enjoy working in the ER of Winsdale Mercy Hospital. But one could only take so many: “ _ Well my general practitioner doesn’t open until nine so I thought I’d stop by” _ or  _ “I want morphine cuz the other stuff ’s what I am allergic to” _ until a deep mental exhaustion settled in.   
  
This is another such  nerve-wracking case. Mr. Smith had come in  for chest pains he’d been having for months. Ignoring the fact that the patient should have come in the day the pain started, Jack goes through his medical record and asks politely.

  
“And you did take your medication?”   
  
The man with a stomach the size of a barrel nods fervently. “Of course and it really was getting better – ” 

 

Jack’s fingers hover over the keyboard, prepared to note this down when the patient continues –   
  


“ – so I stopped taking them.”   
  
Jack swears he feels a vein pop in his head and fights the impulse to just walk out and slam the door for good measure. 

 

Instead, he sits down, stares deep into the small, protruding eyes of Mr. Smith and begins to explain with the patience of a saint why one should continue to take medication as it is the one thing keeping his heart from going down into “ _ fuck-nope lane close to heartattack avenue. _ ” Like a true fucking martyr.   
  


This will get him a seat among the Angels, Jack hopes while the elderly man hobbles out of the small, sparsely decorated room. 

 

There is an examination table, a scale, some cupboards and the yucca palm dying the death of the righteous in the corner closest to the door. A small desk with a computer from last century and two worn swivel chairs with fixed setting perfect the image of boredom.    
  


In this peaceful moment between one patient and the next he contemplates his life choices. Forty-one years old, unmarried, though one could count his employment at the hospital as marriage to the job in which case he is certainly having an unhealthy relationship and requires marital therapy. He lives in a dingy apartment close by and has no pets nor sad excuses in form of virtual ones to his name.

  
As his friend Dr. Angela Ziegler would put it, he is living the “sad old man’s life.” She jokes that he lacks the lawn to chase youngsters off however and points this out every time she visits, which is gratefully rare.   
  
It is not that he doesn’t appreciate one of his few friends. It just so happens that the apartment he’s held for the last years has never heard of the concept called “living space”. Barely holding enough room for a couch turned bed to watch television on, a kitchen aisle and a bathroom. Jack likes to tell himself that he does not need more as he is practically living in the hospital these days anyway.   
  


In the distance he hears the telltale squeaks of white orthopedic shoes approaching.  _ Speak of the devil _ . Said shoes are snugly attached to his blonde friend who frowns as soon as she sets sights on him. 

 

“You look like you haven’t slept all week,” she states, and eyes the lukewarm cup of hospital issued coffee in his right hand suspiciously.

  
“Hadn’t had the time,” Jack mumbles, taking a big gulp of regret to prove a point he isn’t sure had been worth it making. It definitely isn’t, if Angela’s unimpressed expression was any indication.

  
While he respects and even looks up to his fellow doctor her tendencies to meddle are bothersome in a way only something akin to a big sister could make you feel. Not that Jack has any experience on that matter as he was born the only child to his parents. Still, sometimes he wished she would stay an onlooker instead of diving headfirst into these old discussions of his sleeping habits. 

  
“You thought about seeing someone for that?” Angela continues to dig despite his obvious discontent with the topic and he scoffs, displeased. 

  
It was a talk they had at least once a week these days and Jack can't  fathom why Angela makes it her mission to get on his nerves this early in the morning. Especially since he is sure there is some paperwork or patients awaiting her. Her work at the burn unit for those with serious injuries required a lot of attention and time. Instead she is  using this time to lecture him on his sleeping habits.   
  
“You mean the Freud Squad? Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather drink a whole bottle of disinfectant.”    
  
Jack can go without someone analyzing his dreams and coping mechanisms. He is doing well after all, no violence, no showing up late for work and he actually finishes said work. He is well. He does not need some shrink’s help. Curiously, most psychiatrists he’s worked with should have a look at their own heads first; if you asked him (and no one ever does), they all had some kind of screw loose.

  
“Not that the latter wouldn’t give you exactly that appointment you are so desperate to avoid, ” Angela replies sarcastically. he grabs a laryngoscope and points it at him, makes a shooting motion and mouths “Pew” at the same time.    
  
“You are right, a heavy dose of Propofol then.” He smirks and sips his liquid caffeine pretending  to be made of actual coffee beans. The taste had something akin to dishwater but Jack just hopes it will have the desired effect, no matter the cost to his abused taste buds.

  
“I hope you mentioned me in your will for all I put up with,” she says and returns the medical object to its rightful place. A moment later and she has pulled up a plastic chair (when had that one appeared?) and had made herself comfortable. Jack smiles and shifts a bit, his right knee acting up. Either Angela doesn’t notice or she does not mention it.   
  
“Well, have fun with my old coffee maker and a TV past its prime,” he quips. He takes a look at the clock and groans; four more hours until shift change at nine PM. Angela’s peals of laughter echo of the white walls at that.   
  
“Wait, I thought you were only pretending to live in a dingy one room apartment to snatch up the ruggedly handsome type!” she says. Her eyes crinkle while she smiles and suddenly Jack remembers why he likes her. She is probably the only one who jokes with him and is not afraid to tell him off if he needs it.    
  
“So… How is you husband these days?” he asks as they stray into lighter, more enjoyable topics of conversation.   
  


  
  
Angela excuses herself after a few more minutes to attend to her patients and Jack is left alone once more. He examines a few more people for minor ailments and then makes his way down the southern hall towards the ER office for paperwork.    
  
As he broods over a document thinking of how to formulate “Did not wash in days, likely even months” in a professional manner he wishes for more time to attend to people. It had been different back when he was young and strapping; when he felt needed and important.    


Nowadays –  and the realization has hit him hard – he is dispensable. Nothing will ever feel like back then, new and adventurous. And yet he still wants to believe he is fighting the good fight. Just in another setting. A setting that will keep him a few more years, then realize what he has done, what he is and drop him. Leave him.   
  
As they should.   
  
He sighs and cranes his stiff neck, hand on sore muscles, the clock telling him he hasn’t written anything productive in the last five minutes. He decides dwelling on the past and false nostalgia will get him nowhere. At least nowhere good and he tries to focus on the task at hand once more only to notice how his fingers are shaking. He sucks in a sharp breath and balls his fists to keep them from moving as the smell of searing hot flesh wafts through the air.    
  
He jumps up and startles a few coworkers with the sudden motion but cannot find it in himself to care. He needs a smoke. A horrible habit he picked up after the war and that has stuck with him since then. Another step on his path to self-destruction, just through different means. He passes through the glazed doors in the foyer and out. Out as his hands are already  digging for his lighter and cigarettes. 

  
As soon as the smoke hits his lungs, the barbed wire around his chest releases its constricting hold around his chest. 

 

Long-term effects of nicotine indicate otherwise, but Jack does not care. He sucks the gaseous poison out through the filter and into his body. He welcomes the calm that accompanies the drug and breathes a sigh of relief.    
  
The smoke carries the pungent smell away and Jack remembers that he forgot to close the file before fleeing. A written warning for endangering patient confidentiality would be the cherry on top; a rotten, ugly cherry. He will return to his work soon, he tells himself, as he should. He should not be  out here taking a smoke break. 

 

He just wishes it could all go up in air like the cigarette smoke.   
  
He is making his way back through the hospital’s foyer when he happens upon Lena Oxton, an ER nurse that he quite enjoys having a talk with on some days and in low doses. Her chipper and upbeat attitude is a welcome change to the tired grumblings of some of the other colleagues. 

  
“Hullo, Doc,” she greets with a mock salute and he finds himself raising his hand in the same manner. Her face scrunches up however as he draws closer and he raises his eyebrows in question.

  
“Cancer sticks.” she explains and rolls her eyes. “I wish Em would stop, I tell you. I smell it a mile away.”    
  
Jack shrugs, while the young woman prattles on about her girlfriend sneaking smokes into their flat, comfortable just listening to her talking, British accent distinct the more she excites herself. He met her girlfriend Emily previously, so her complaints do not worry him to much. They compliment each other in a way and Jack nods occasionally as they make their way down the hall.

  
“Oh sorry, Doc!” she says and turns around to face him. The reception just past them as they take to left turn down the ER. “Here I am jabbering on and all and not even asking how YOU are!” she giggles and presses her keycard to the  _ Staff only _ entrance.    
  
“I am fine. You sure Em isn’t going to make you sleep outside for coming home late on your anniversary?”   
  
“Nah, I told her I had to pitch in, she is quite understanding of my job you know? Couldn’t ask for more. Also, she is cooking.” Lena sighs dreamily at that and waves at a passing nurse whose name escapes Jack at the moment. She seems to pick up on that however and mouths “Orisa”. 

 

He nods; now he remembers. The young nurse started only recently. Her dark, almost black skin setting her apart from a lot of the other staff.    
  
“Hello, Lena, Doctor Morrison,” the nurse says and bows her head in greeting before hurrying along, the infusions in her muscular arms shaking heavily.   
  
“How do you think she does it?” Lena whispers, awe in her voice.   
  
Jack, having noticed nothing out of the ordinary, tries to ascertain what she is talking about. His confusion is evident as she rolls her eyes in response and nods towards the nurse just disappearing into Room E20.    
  
“The braids, Jack. Sometimes I wonder if those are actually eyes in that skull of yours or if they are just for decoration.”   
  
Jack shrugs and crosses his arms   
  
“Hey I’m a man after all. Got a reputation to uphold.” 

 

Lena raises her eyebrows as they stop at what is affectionately called “the base” of the ER; the reception with a break room behind. Always open for the safety and health of the patients, and rarely peaceful, except for nights.   
  
“As for your question. I have no idea how she braids nor do I care. I am glad to get my hair stay down in the mornings and that is that.”   
  
Lena scoffs at that and throws her arms up in defeat. “Grumpy old man I swear. You have no aesthetic sense. And gender, Doc, has nothing to do with it.”   
  
Jack swears Angela is infecting his coworkers with her expressions. He is barely in his early forties after all and by no means grumpy, just... pragmatic, realistic. A valid attribute to possess. He plays along anyway..   
  
“Says the kid wearing orange pants,” he retorts. He grabs for the folder sitting among the pile meant for the doctors to file through and comment on. “Ms. Henning is back again?” he asks, recoiling at the sight of her diabetic feet which had deteriorated. Again.   
  
“Oh no, don’t you dare deflect Doc.” Lena appears in his line of sight once more, hands placed on her hips, ready for battle, intimidating if it wasn’t for her rather short stature and bed hair. “You did not just insult my limited edition Slipstream collection pants.”   
  
“I am surprised you didn’t stutter at that mouthful to be honest,” he mutters. He makes a face when he remembers the last visit with this patient, when he’d ended up with a mummified toe in his hand. A collateral of an intense damage inspection.    
  
“I’ll let you know that – don’t look at the next one if you want ta keep your breakfast luv-” 

  
Jack quickly skipped the next picture for later scrutiny, instead looking a few photos ahead.   
  
“As I was saying the Slipstream collection is the go to these days, do you know nothing?” She pauses, bites her lower lip and her shoulders slump down. “Do you really think it that hideous?”   
  
Jack feels a lump in his gut as he realizes his mistake. He forgot that Lena is still a woman with insecurities just as any other person and he had to go and trample on them like an elephant in a china shop. Idiot. He still hadn’t gotten better at picking up social cues.    
  
“No,” he says instead. “It fits you just fine.” He inhales, takes a moment and manages a wry smile. “Don’t listen to anything this grumpy old man says.”   
  
Lena perks up and grins, gives his bicep the little shove he deserves for his social inaptitude. She leans on the counter, drawing a deprecative stare from the secretary. The woman dislikes lack of professionalism.   
  
“Nah, you’re alright for an old grump. Got no kids to teach you the ropes after all do you?”    
  
Jack shakes his head, smile disappearing. Once the idea of family had been a goal to work toward nowadays it is an empty dream. He sighs once, wistfully, and notices Lena staring at him, frown adorning her face.   
  
“Sorry, just zoned out for a bit,” he explains and tugs the file under his armpit, along with several others. He had work to get done.   
  
“Sounds like you went for a quick visit to Jupiter,” Lena jokes. But there is no fire behind it.

 

Most people know of his former military career, it is hard not to catch his rigid posture and his march-like steps, his muscled body did not help hide it either. It makes others around him cautious however; some tread on eggshells and Jack can’t blame them. He is a timebomb, just with less explosives and more emotional baggage.    
It makes him thankful for the small shows of friendship by a few of his colleagues and he smiles a little.    
  
“Something like that,” he finally replies, voice solemn. This time it is Lena who gives a half-smile her brows still set in a frown. “Well, gotta get around and actually do the work I am paid to do.” He tries not to flinch at the relief that seems to flood out of Lena.

 

Nobody likes talking to a vet stuck in their own past. Except for the Freud squad and that was a path he wasn’t willing to walk on. 

  
He strides back to the office without looking back. No call followed him and he was secretly glad. There was still so much work to do after all.   
  


  
  
Shortly before the end of his shift, as fate would have it, the shrill peep of his ATL duty phone charges him with a shot of adrenaline. He barely manages to tell the confused old lady to return to the front desk before pressing the bulky phone to his ear, already sprinting towards what the staff called the “CD,” short for coffin dodger, their trauma rooms of which the hospital held two.

  
A click and his ears pick up on the most soothing voice, calm in every situation despite the odds. He scowls. Jack wishes he didn’t have to listen to Vaswani’s collected demeanor in stressful situations and he curses as he dodges a lone EKG-monitor on his way.   
  
“Helicopter coming in in three. Car accident, two casualties. Severe burns and blunt force trauma. Team one assigned to CD 3, Team two CD 6.” At least she gets the point across quickly. 

  
A click. Team one, Jack’s team, is redirected to another line. A new voice he can’t place continues without pause.

  
“Forty-five years old, driver, male. Possible head trauma GCS5t. Intubated, acute respiratory failure, approx. 45% burn area. Burns unit informed. Open pneumothorax, open fractures to ribs, right arm. CCT asap, MRT after stabilized vital parameters.”

 

She doesn’t need to tell him twice. CCT in case of possible trauma to the head was a standard procedure. First secure brain activity and a sufficient circulation, the rest could wait.   
  


“Understood” Jack puffs out, just as he arrives at CD3. He is greeted by Angela who nods and skids past him while he prepares for possible CPR, the nurses already preparing emergency medication.   
  
A few minutes later the Paramedics arrive with a stretcher, the rhythmic sighs of the respirator calming Jack into a routine. 

  
“CCT has run, subarachnoid hemorrhage, left hemisphere frontal lobe – ” the paramedic says as the team springs into action. 

  
“Ziegler, prepare an artery. We need an i.v – nevermind there is one on the left leg. Administer a warm Ringer solution.” 

  
“OP six needs ten minutes to prepare.” a voice calls out and Jack nods.

  
“I want the mean arterial pressure between a sixty and ninety, someone order blood bags and where the hell did they put the- Ah! There it is,” another doctor says while Jack administers a sedative and a painkiller. That man is going to need it, burnt and blood caked as the poor soul is. If he pulls through.

  
Today it does not take the team long to fall into a routine after the most severe problems had been assessed and were tackled. They worked well together; their group had just had a simulation recently and maybe that was what made it easier for them. Everyone knowing their task and doing it, no one stands around idly. 

 

Jack presses his lips in a thin line as memories brush by. 

  
He wraps the burns in gauze, a temporary measure for surgery, and the memory is gone in the light of the situation.

  
“Nurse Ross, get a break, someone take his place,” Jack says while he feels the sweat under his scrubs on his back and his forehead, running down in cascades. He’ll need a drink later.

  
Wetten, wrap, repeat. The work is done quickly Jack leaves the vitals to Angela, she is good at her job, better than him at least and they need the man to survive surgery.   
  
He forgets about time in the Coffin Dodger, forgoes it wheeling the patient down to surgery, expects for few minutes to have passed when in all actuality it might have been days. As he waits outside the operation room he observes the proceedings. 

 

Nothing else to do while their team waits for their cue. If something happens during surgery they are present as back-up; if not, they are in charge of the transport to the burns unit anyway, no sense in leaving only to run back later.   
  
“Someone heard bout the other guy?” a young radiologist asks at which someone scoffs.   
  


“We were stuck here how are we supposed to know?”   
  


“It’s just – ” The radiologists stops wriggles his hands and Jack feels pity for him; he hasn’t seen a lot of these cases yet, is still inexperienced. “Heard em talkin in the hallway. Said he was barely twenty.”   
  
“Nothing we can do about it,” one of the nurses says, voice gruff. There is a hint of compassion there however as she hands him some water.   
  
In the OP they shave the patient’s head, long brown curls falling to the ground. The half-dry blood being swabbed away to inspect the extent of the external trauma. The chest of the man rises and falls to the rhythm of the machine, no sign whether the brain has taken damage. No spontaneous muscle movement, good.

  
He notices the slightly large nose next, a face that might have been handsome once bore nasty scars. Scars older than the car accident. Brows that are just a bit thicker and a goatee adorning the chin. It is somehow too familiar and Jack steps closer to the one-way glass to make out more details.

  
“Jack?”   
  


He takes a shuddering breath and just  _ stares. _ A face he had known years ago and believed dead. A face that was now lying in surgery dying and Jack is sure he is seeing things because this can. not. be. real.   
  
_ “Jack.” _ __  
__  
His palm leaves an oily print on the glass. He ignores this.

 

_ “Jackie.” _ __  
__  
Fog clouds the see through material as he inches closer. Closer to confirm, to know what he already knows. He is sure his heart has stopped and he is actually a ghost looking at a surgery, projecting images and why? He was better than this. Had been getting better.   
  
“ __ Jack. C’mere.”   
  
His mouth forms a circular shape, his tongue touching his gum in a clear motion.   
  
“No.” A whisper. A warm touch at his right shoulder, a hand too small to belong to a man. It’s burning him.

 

“Jack!”   
  
Someone shakes him and reality returns like a lifted  curtain. Jack blinks once, his mouth oddly parched. He stares down at Angela who looks at him, eyebrows knit. Worry, his brain supplies.   
  
“Huh?” said brain manages eloquently and the firm hand steers him away from the looking glass to the past, sits him down, pushes a bottle of water into his hand.    
  
“Make him drink something.” The voice of his friend orders one of the nurses while Jack stares at the bottle, mind absent.    
  
“What is the patient’s name?” he croaks.    
  


There is a moment of silence, no one daring to indulge his curiosity in fear of Doctor Ziegler.    
  
“His name,” he asks again. This time voice firm, unshaken.   
  
“Reyes, Gabriel,” a voice behind him supplies. The radiologist. 

 

It doesn’t matter, Jack is somewhere else already.   
  
_ KIA: Porter, Amy, Singer, Mike, Adams, Jonathan….  _ __  
__  
Names over names. Jack remembered clearly, too clearly.

 

_Reyes, Gabriel._   
  
The voice in his mind finishes and Jack blinks down at his scarred hand holding the water bottle. There was less water in it now; when had it gone down his throat? He shakes his head and downs the rest of it. Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters it seems, not even death if it just came back to bite you in the ass.  
  
He gets up but there are hands grabbing him. He shrugs them off, makes his way towards the door.  
  
“I got patients to attend to,” he supplies mechanically as his feet drag him towards his exit.  
  
“No you don’t,” a new, familiar voice says and Jack looks up. Really looks up as the man is gargantuan. 

 

Dr. Winston Junior is the Chief of Administration and usually a benign, friendly figure. After his father’s retirement he took on the post as Chief Hospital Administrator. Jack owes him quite a debt after he’d arranged to let a veteran like him work at his hospital.    
  


_ For old times sake. _

  
Dr. Winston had been an undergraduate at med. school years ago and Jack used to help him out with his studies. Easier times back then. 

 

Right now, however, he stands, unbudging, in Jack’s way, trying hard to seem intimidating.

  
Jack shakes his head and pushes past the man. The chief can’t shake him. Jack has seen so much worse in his life.   
  
“Six hours,” Dr. Winston says, turning around to face Jack’s back. Jack is now being held up by Angela, who once more had taken hold of his arm. “Six hours since your shift ended, Dr. Morrison.” 

 

Jack turns around to glare at him.    
  
“Dr. Ziegler informed me that you needed rest.” There is an accentuation on the last word and Jack shoots a look of betrayal at his friend.  _ We’ll talk about this _ . 

  
Angela returns the stare, tired. Her ponytail messy and her scrubs wrinkled. Why isn’t she being sent home?   
  
“ – and I am inclined to agree,” his boss continues, ignoring the silent communication between his employees. “Dr. Morrison. Go home, stay home tomorrow, rest. I’ll have someone cover your shift.” That means it’s final. No objections allowed.   
  
Dr. Winston pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Another tired one; why is he the only one sent home? Why is he a safety hazard when others were fine working 24/7? Jack doesn’t get it.   
  
Angela likely told him about the episode. Jack beats down the urge to snarl at her.   
  
“Yes, sir,” he replies instead. Curt, formal. Nothing to find fault with.   
  
He ignores the stares on his retreating form as he leaves. This was a battle he could only lose and Jack Morrison has learned to pick his battles by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! thank you for reading. First published work in years(And with english not being my native language *sweats*) I am excited. It was a blast working with Lifewhatisthat. Check out her work NOW : [lifewhatisthat](http://lifewhatisthat.tumblr.com/)  
> The posting schedule is Sundays and Wednesdays. 
> 
> Warning, I tried to stick to realism pertaining medical stuff and still keep it understandable, also I do hope the Readers realize that medical professionals do not have as much time on hands as these guys here


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death always brings great acceptance- A mnemonic for the five stages of Grief by Kübler-Ross. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Grief, Acceptance.  
> Shaldon- catheter : Central venous line with wide lumina to allow for hemodialysis.  
> Iron Henry - A figure in the Frog prince. He put his heart in chains in grief over his prince's curse. They burst at the end of the story.
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks again EdgeLady for doing the lord's work. You are making this story readable.

 

Winston likely thought he was doing Jack a favor by giving him the day off. Yet there could have been no worse choice to make. A day off left Jack alone to his thoughts and his treacherous mind.

  
Winston didn’t know, doesn’t know but Jack blames him anyway as he lies, listless on his bed, without the mercy of sleep. The shutters are drawn to keep out the moonlight yet the noise from the street persists. Mostly bold youths testing their skills on the broad sidewalk below, with a few policemen around to really stop them from dangerous endeavors.   
  
It was an understatement to call his neighbourhood ratty but it was close to the hospital, cheap and no questions were asked in the hallways of his apartment complex. Jack hasn’t ever seen his direct neighbours to this day.   
  
He sighs, turns on his back and places his arm in front of his eyes. The cold does nothing to calm his racing mind and he groans.   
  
_ Why? _   
  
For the last six years he had thought himself to be the only surviving member of their unit. Out of sheer luck. 

 

He remembers the roar of metal bars no longer holding out, the concrete dust falling down like suffocating snow. The screams of men, women, children. And his own voice shouting,  “ _ Get out, get them all out! _ ” when a large slab of the building collapsed and felled him. He remembers crawling on burning knees when the next explosion shook the earth, the force knocking his face into the ground with full force, blacking him out.   
  
He jumps up and out of bed. 

 

No sense crashing down into his memories, wrecking himself. He is doing well after all, he is in control, has to be. Can’t go and get lost after a small surprise can he?

  
He used to be a soldier, for fuck’s sake. Now he gets wimpy at the smallest noises resembling explosions and gunfire. Has to turn off television when the news is on for fear of flashbacks. He is a wreck that carries a deep rooted exhaustion in it’s bones that mere lack of sleep won’t explain.   
  
Jack feels work is the only thing that can take his mind off the mess he’s made of his life these days. Knowing what has to be done and when, a small bubble he has control over despite his shortcoming. Today, someone had to go and poke at it.   
  
He yearns the war to be a mantle he could just shake off. Instead it had been woven into him, eternally connected no matter how much he tugged and tore at the fabric.

  
Jack sighs as he passes the bedroom door, collecting yesterday's clothes from the ground.

Scrubs at least made choosing to wear the same outfit for a week possible.   
  
The door to his apartment shuts behind him as he heads out in a black hoodie and hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, sound blocking headphones securely on his ears. Maybe fresh air will do him some good, he thinks, and tries to concentrate on everything but his own musings.   
  
He walks without direction, the streets familiar from many sleepless nights and days off he had spent out rather than cooped up in his small living space. Few are around at two am. A woman taking her large St. Bernard for a walk; some drunk yowls a shanty in a corner. The air is crisp but Jack enjoys the cold as something else to focus on. It had always been hot where he was stationed. They used to complain about the heat and sweat and wondered how Reyes could stand wearing that hoodie of his.

  
Jack looks down at his own hoodie, quite similar, and contemplates whether his choice of clothing had been influenced by the man.   
  


They had been best friends, once.   
  


All things come to an end, he muses and passes the small bakery already awake, the smell permeating the air. Thick and sweet. A distraction.   
  
He digs his hands further into the pockets, white knuckled while he tries to follow the movement of a leaf being blown across the street. Anything really to take his mind of his train of thought; otherwise there’d be a crash. Jack wishes to avoid such circumstances   
  
He still wonders why the return of a companion believed dead brings him such discomfort.   
_ More than a companion _ , he recalls, recoils and shudders.   
  
“Please, leave me alone,” he mutters as he finds himself on a bench. He does not remember moving to sit but it is all the same as he feels his subconsciousness stabbing him in the back like it is prone to do when he was already on the ground.   
  
_ His eyes open to darkness, he can barely breathe the stifling, dusty air. How much of it is left? His right arm is stuck, his legs as well, but he can feel the crippling pain once he tries moving. A good sign; no spinal damage. He flexes his fingers, blinks. His breathing oddly loud in the closed space. _

_   
_ _ His left arm grabs for the communicator and he curses the small button… reaches for it beyond the pain and presses down. It seem he can’t move his other arm. Dislocated? It is hard to tell with the rush of adrenaline and pain all over.  _

 

_ “Morrison here, anyone there?” his voice is hoarse. He craves water for his parched throat. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Silence follows and Jack repeats.. No response. A bad sign if there ever was one.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Hello?” he calls again, the strain making his vision swim, black edging on from the corners. Blacker than the darkness that surrounds him at least  He holds on to the contents of his stomach just barely through a few controlled albeit labored breaths.  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Dust settles in his throat as he inhales, coughs wracking his lungs until he feels like suffocation tightens his throat. He gags several times trying to force the irritation out but only succeeds in stimulation of his stomach. He vomits and the smell mixes horribly with that of burnt flesh and rubber.

_   
_ _ It is then that his sense catches up with him. He’s trapped. _

_   
_ _ -and he can’t breathe, oh my god he can’t breathe, he’s going to die here, he’s going to die- _

 

_ Still, what about the others? Darkness takes him, a welcome embrace of unconsciousness.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ What about Gabe? _ _   
_ __   
The sweat cooling on his skin returns Jack to the bench he previously had sat down upon. His chest rises and falls rapidly while he blinks at his shaking hands. He wills them to stop, and wipes his forehead with his hoodie sleeve.    
  
He can’t help but bury his face between his knees, willing his thoughts to stop for once. Silent sobs shake him as he cowers on that bench and waits for it.   
  
It never stops.

 

~~~~~~   
  
Jack returns to work the next day, bags under his eyes prominent as ever. Angela is not on shift today; a saving grace he is quietly thankful for as the very notion of dealing with her fretting peaks his exhaustion up a notch.   
  
To his surprise the day passes without any incidents beside the usual chaos that is their ER and in turn he finds himself incredibly aware of who is lying a floor above him. In every free moment he is reminded of Gabriel and imagines walking upstairs to talk. Illogical since an intubated and sedated ICU patient is in no condition for a heart to heart.

  
_ What if he happens to wake up _ ? Jake thinks and rubs his fingers, dissolving the paper between. He sighs.

  
What if they meet on the hospital floor? Jack goes up quite frequently to meet Angela, or to consult his colleagues. What will he do? What will he say? Will Gabriel even recognize him ( _ of course he will _ ), will he get angry?   
  
The man always had a temper like a thunderstorm, sudden and explosive and you better ran for cover when there were clouds hanging low. Or just scream louder. Both worked.   
  


He pictures Gabriel talking to him decently, something they hadn’t done long before the attack. He smiles even and it cuts like a knife to the heart.    
  


Jack’s face pulls into a deep set frown as he leans against the counter, an expression that usually keeps inquiries at bay, the scars on his face an indicator of a more violent occupation prior to a white coat.    
  
He wants to talk to his former friend, find out what actually happened back then as his own memory is hazy on the best days and distorted on the worst. He recalls waking up in a hospital in the U.S a month later, getting told his team had been wiped. He couldn’t believe it back then but they handed him a medal, a hearty clap on the back and a “ _ do well in life _ ” for the journey.

  
He had no access to information, nothing on the news and thus he did what he could and accepted the facts. 

 

A wry smile plays around his lips.   
  
_ Death always brings great acceptance _

__   
Denial, anger, bargaining, grief, acceptance. He assumes he went through all these stages, without ever managing to distance himself from the events that transpired back then.   
He’d given up on it. On ever finding out the truth, not the sugar-coated lies he’s been fed by the officials. Does Gabriel know? Would he ever tell?

  
He wants closure, has to know what happened. Why he was left alone for  _ 48 hours. _ Until someone dug him out from under the debris along with other lucky civilians.

  
He taps away on the counter aggressively and earns a glare from a nurse. He ignores it, fumbles with the file he is supposed to look through instead.    
  
“Can I help you with anything?” the nurse asks, the crisp intonation indicating no honest desire to help. 

 

Jack gets the memo and grabs the file and his long gone cold coffee, and absconds with a curt nod and a, “No thanks.”    
  
Perhaps on a whim, maybe following a decision made long before this morning, he takes the stairs up to the next floor.    
  
“ _ Authorized personnel only _ ” the sign reads and Jack presses his keycard to the panel on the side. A large hall stretches before him. He takes a moment to gather his wits, remembering the coffee and file in his hands and sighs. What a stupid idea this was.   
  
“Dr. Morrison, how nice of you to visit,” a cool yet familiar voice to his right disturbs the maelstrom his thoughts are about to turn into.    
  
“Dr. O’Deorain,” he replies eloquently and stares at the anesthetist. She raises a single eyebrow,a feat not many could manage, and Jack envies her sometimes. It added a sense of regality to people and Moira O’Deorain is the epitome of a noble: back always straight and expressions meant for crushing her foes. In her case the attendees of the lectures where she regularly presents the results of her research at the university. Not to mention her height is equal to Jack’s.    
  
Jack is surprised she is even here. She tended to hang around academics more than patients these days and thus he barely sees the woman anymore.   
  
“To what do I owe the honor?”   
  
Jack realizes a few seconds of silence must have passed as Moira has both eyebrows raised. Shit. He shrugs.   
  
“No honor in this man lef,.” he jokes half-heartedly and she has the courtesy to smirk ever so slightly.   
  
“Well now, Dr. Honorless. I am quite busy today so if there is anything I can assist you with?”    
  
“Oh, yeah...”  his lip twitches a bit as he tries to come up with a suitable excuse. “You don’t happen to know about the two cases from yesterday?” 

 

A nurse passes them by, a curious gaze fixed on his scars. Jack scowls, his own eyes immediately drawn to the scar around O’Deorain’s left eye. Sometimes he wonders why nobody had bothered to graft the burn back then. It would have made it less obvious. As it was, the reddish welts around her eye remained and Jack couldn’t imagine her differently.    
  


Her presence at the hospital does however do something for his self-esteem since he is not the only disfigured curiosity on the premises. Rumors had it, that her answer to when she had acquired her scar had always been, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” That was her advantage. Jack hadn’t made it a secret upon his employment; an idealistic notion he now despised.

 

“I was on ATLS call on Tuesday, the car accident.” he explains and averts his gaze from her face, the fire emergency plan adorning the wall to his right a safer option. “Just curious if they made it.”    
  


“Do you count the ICU as ‘made it’?” Moira asks, and shakes her head. “Made it out of OP at least. We can’t run prognostics this early on, as you are well aware.”   
  
“Figures,” Jack answers and grabs the cup in his hand a little tighter.   
  
“If you do intend to take a look, please use the masks with ventilation.” The tall woman crosses her fingers, threatening. “I will not be held responsible for another fool walking into isolation completely bare.” Apparently something done too often in the past, it seemed, as she added a murmured “ _ or their corpses. _ ”   
  
“I’ll consider your suggestion, thanks,” Jack replies dryly and receives a withering stare in return. 

 

The woman grumbles a harsh “see you around.” and vanishes behind one of the white doors in the hall. As far as Jack knows it is a room for medical equipment. 

 

He has a small moment of tranquility and then he is reminded of the reason for his visit. Dread settles into his gut, yet another stone to carry on his bent back as it bears down its weight on his body. He steels himself against the burden and goes onward. His feet feel heavy as he approaches the counter and looks up the room.

 

_ 24 Mr. Reyes _

 

The muscles in his thighs move before he wills them too and several steps later he finds himself before the mantrap that leads into the preheated and isolated room. His hands quiver as he dons the required gear befitting a post-apocalyptic setting: cloak, thick gloves, a mask covering half of his face. He does not recognize himself in the reflection of the glass door that marks the clean mantrap. Hands sticky from sweat and disinfectant push the bottom and the door behind him closes with a loud groan. The one in front of him opens, hissing, a second after there is the sound of closing behind him.

 

What is the reason for his course of action?  _ A deep sense of longing for times past _ , his thoughts reply, as his body directs him towards the bed in the small room.

 

Among machines lies a body in a bed too small for the several catheters and tubes sticking out. The neck has been severely abused to force lost fluids into him, all blue and black, a shaldon-catheter leading to the dialysis peacefully humming and cleaning excess waste produced by a hyperactive metabolism from the blood.

 

Several layers of gauze cover the area affected by the burns. The right side as a whole resembles more of mummy than man and Jack grimaces, imagining the wounds that lie beneath. This was but one reason that made Jack stay far from open fire.

 

Self consciously he rubs his left arm, the tingling sensation alien up to this day. The scars had faded little with the years yet the nerves never fully reconnected. It left him with a feeling of a barrier between his skin and fingers although there is none.

 

His eyes wander up to the face,  wrapped up in hydrokolloid and gauze, all rough patches with tads of skin laying free. He recognizes the crooked nose and the skin that lays free.

 

“Gabriel,” Jack mutters and wonders at how easy it is to talk to people knowing they aren’t listening.

 

He approaches the bed and finds the left hand free from wounds. The artery lies conspicuously in the crook of his wrist, continuously measuring the blood pressure. He grasps the hand within his own, colder than should be and half expects a gentle pressure back.

 

Nothing of that sort happens.

 

_ Gabriel,  _ he thinks and focuses on the soft humming of the machines around him. A sort of sound he can stand, that doesn’t throw him back into fights long past. He finds it calming and the rhythm of the ventilation machine, the soft exhales and inhales, mirror his own as he takes in every crease on the blanket, every stain however small.

 

Everything to not look at the once so familiar face.

 

And yet , he keeps on wanting to see, to touch, to convince himself that this is real. That he is not dreaming. This is real and this is Gabriel Reyes, his best friend from the better days of his life if only through his sheer presence in them alone.

 

“Gabriel,” he croaks and his gloved fingers move to stroke the coarse beard that has yet to be shaved by one of the nurses. “All this time I thought you were dead.” Useless, since the man is so heavily sedated he’d probably not wake up if a bomb went off. A bomb. He gasps softly and his free hand tightens.

 

_ Why didn’t you look for me?  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Would you even want to?

 

“They told me no one could have survived that blast.”

 

The lump in his throat makes it harder to speak. Memories he would rather keep buried threaten to spill out of their unkempt grave.

 

“Oh god, Gabe.” The use of the old nickname ties his stomach into knots while his hands trace new scars at the shoulder. A bullet likely, that hadn't been there before their time together ended.

 

He feels the sweat running down his neck, his forehead and the plastic sticking to his skin but it is nothing against feeling glued to the ground without knowing how to approach the matter at hand. 

 

The dead didn't come back had been what he told himself time and time again, but what to do when the Reaper knocks on your door instead to drop someone off?

 

What is he supposed to do now. What does he want to do? The guilt is already eating him alive and now there was another left alive who knew. That man had once been his best friend and as close to something more as Jack could get within his army days.

 

A wave of shame crushes over him and he pulls himself out of these thoughts. Shoves them hard into a hidden closet in his mind. A door to be opened at a later date, with a bottle of bourbon maybe.

 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Jack finally says after a while of waiting for the room to spontaneously combust and take him down.

 

What does he say to the person he – apparently – almost got killed?

 

Assuming the man wakes up at all. Jack hasn’t looked up the files; it felt like betrayal to him. Still, he wishes he knew how his chances stood. Judging he machinery he was at least in a serious condition. Nothing more he could make out from that.

 

Lips pressed into a thin line he thought more about it. If Gabe was alive why hadn’t he contacted him?

 

Years and no word of contact? It didn’t sound at all like the Gabriel who would push through groups of enemies to save his comrades. But it also wasn’t like Jack to just take his medal, pack up and leave for L.A when he got the honorable boot. Neither had his comrades caused the failure of a mission and the loss of so many lives.   
  
Jack takes in a sticky gulp of air. Tightening his chest even more.

 

_ The old Jack wouldn’t have run _ , he thinks bitterly as his thumb runs circles on the other man’s hand.    
  
The Jack before that promotion would have given all his time to research what had happened, gone back to that land of desert and heat by himself to find those he had lost.    
  
But only the husk of that Jack was left. Blinded by pain and grief and a crushing sense of defeat. There was no power left to fight in him, no hope to hold onto and thus he gave up.    
  
Easier, understandable. Unforgivable.   
  
Life is not like the movies. People do not immediately wake up after a bad accident. There are tubes and hoping and fear for the life of your loved one. There are no tearful reunions, just awkward reunions at most.

  
And there is no way to redeem yourself after sinning greatly. And oh, had Jack sinned. Betrayed the trust of his subordinates.   
  
Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison were friends, once.    
  
Today they are strangers.   
  
Jack takes one last gaze at the monitor, calmly announcing the need for calibrations, before he steps away from the bed. 

 

Like the iron Henry he locks his heart beyond chains as it hurts and stings. The key has been thrown away and Jack intends to keep it that way. Still, he feels drawn to Gabriel, wants to talk to him and clear up what has been misunderstood.

 

Jack is aware however that, just as last time around, it will end up hurting them both.

 

One can pick up a broken plate and glue it back together but it will never return to its former state. It will never again hold water, the liquid seeping through the cracks. Useless for its intended purpose.

 

Jack does not even deserve the glue, he thinks as he leaves the room. Removes the protective gear and feels the sweat cool on his skin.   
  
He walks up, mechanically, to the waiting room and sags down on one of the hard plastic seats. He distantly notes the movements to his right while he waits for the world to regains focus. The humidity of the room back there always gets to him, the emotional component notwithstanding.    
  
He regrets visiting after a few moments and shakes his head. What does he hope to accomplish there? “Hello Gabe, I know we kinda literally blew up on each other last time we met but hey we can patch things up you know? Patching up is a thing I do. to people. sometimes. Ha Ha.”    
  
Yes. No. He’d probably get a black eye from that if not more.    
  
He huffs and props his elbows on his knees. What is he even doing here? He chastises himself for his naivete all the while digging his palms into his eye sockets.   
  
“Rough shift there?” a voice with the tint of an accent asks, a hint of irony barely concealed.

 

Jack looks to his right at a teen whose makeup is a tad thicker than appropriate for her age. The mascara has smeared a little making her piercing indigo eyes stand out more than anything.

 

“Something like that,” he grumbles. She returns her focus to the phone in her hands. Her fingers move at an indiscernible speed and Jack worries once more for the joints of the young generation.

 

“So, what are his chances?” she asks, gaze transfixed on the phone where brightly colored pixels indicate a video game of some sorts.

 

It takes him a moment to realize he’s being addressed.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

The eyes leave the phone for a second. Her features betray no emotion.

 

“Room 24, Doctor.” She motions to the door he just left behind and raises an eyebrow. “My guardian.” Her tone changes, a barely noticeable pitch and a glimmer in her eyes. Her exact words take a moment to trickle in however, a water burning hot in his lungs.

 

Gabriel had always wished for a family. No reason not to start one after leaving the army.

 

Still, a mix of disappointment, envy and a strange kind of resentment keep him from answering the girl immediately.

 

“Well, doctor?”

 

“Guardian?” he repeats. His brain is still trying to process the fact that Gabriel had a daughter. Though upon closer inspection she seems slightly too old to have been born after their army days. Before then? Gabriel had never mentioned having children.

 

“Yeah? People do that, have kids,” Her focus has shifted back to the phone now. “They won’t tell me a thing since I am underage. Just told me there was an accident.” She bites her lower lip and her pastel pink lipstick smears. “Accident.” she repeats.

 

“So what are his chances of survival after this? In percent,” she asks and albeit there is a nonchalance about it, the thickness behind her voice betray the deadpan tone. 

 

Jack looks at her, really takes her in, the quiver of her lips and the breaths a little faster, shallower than usual. In this moment Jack does not see the child of Gabriel. As a physician he sees a scared, uncertain relative who has no knowledge of human physiology nor about what is going to happen from now on.    
  
“Sorry kid,” he says. “Can’t give you a number here.”    
  
The girls scoffs but the disappointment shows still as she has stopped tapping away on her phone. He got her attention, no use in betraying it.   
  
“It depends on the area burnt, the age of the person, smoke inhalation, constitution and such. Your guardian,” he slightly winces, “could get pneumonia on top of it.   
“There is not much I can tell you at this point.”   
  
“So, Schrödingers cat?” she mumbles, the frown on her face deepening with every passing second while Jack nods once. “You are a shit shrink.” She sniffs and Jack almost panics because he doesn’t really want to explain how he made a kid cry on a station that is not his. But then she smirks. “A really shitty shrink, where did you get your – ” she draws a square in the air with her free finger, “shrink paper.”    
  
Jack manages a small smile himself.   
  
“Afraid nowhere since I am not a shrink.” The girl mock gasps and he decides to play along.    
“Someone gave me the white garments and told me to do whatever.” He pauses for a second, then adds sternly. “I’m really not a shrink, god forbid.” His eyes narrow for a second. “No. Just.” He shakes his head. “Do I really look like one?” Jack asks. 

 

The girl shrugs. “Dunno, never met one. If I’d harbor a guess though, on the scar? Some angry patient taking revenge for a wrong treatment? Wait, no that would be plastic surgeons.” She grins at the last sentence, the phone forgotten in her lap. 

  
Jack rolls his eyes. “Slander I say, scars look good.”    
  
She is about to retort something. eyes glinting in mirth when they find something else to focus on.   
  
The sound of heeled shoes approaching behind them makes him turn his head. A woman in her forties approaches. Hair hidden under a hijab and face set into a frown not from distaste but from hardship. Still, the flowing trench coat and the air of resolution cause Jack to feel awe in front of this woman whose lips split into a smile warm and comforting as the sun when she reaches the two.   
  
“Sombra, I just heard!” she says and here too, was the hint of an accent. One Jack couldn’t place. The girl next to him seems to shrink in the presence of the new person and shakes her head.   
  
“I’m good,” she mumbles, arms crossed defensively. She appeared almost shy? Jack couldn’t quite place the behavior.    
  
“Whatever you are,” the woman says sternly, “it is definitely not well.” She pulls out a tissue and immediately starts rubbing below the girls eyes. She makes a face like a cat in water, before she is pulled into a crushing hug.    
  
“Oh dear,” the woman mutters and the girl, Sombra, goes limp when the woman begins stroking her hair. The sniffling started a moment later until it went to full out wailing. Not an unfamiliar sound on the station but a cue to leave for Jack.    
  
The woman notices his motion to stand up and nods in thanks while hushing the child in her arms. There were mascara stains on her shoulder and Jack had the invasive thought that had he a daughter, he wouldn’t allow that much makeup.   
  
Pushing that inappropriate and badly timed thought aside, he leaves the burns unit behind to continue his day one floor down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is still no depiction of how busy a hospital is. 
> 
> This is how a room in the ICU looks: https://4.imimg.com/data4/SE/YW/MY-899019/icu2-500x500.jpg 
> 
> Chapter one has been updated for readability. If I forgot to explain some medical mumbo jumbo feel free to hit me up. I sometimes forget myself.
> 
>  
> 
> !IMPORTANT! The R76 Zine "They loved each other" only has two days of sales left. Grab a copy if you can because the money goes to doctors without borders (An organization very dear to my heart for obvious reasons) Also I looked up the artists and writers and oh man some of my faves are on there!!! (I am real excited for my copy, can you guess? :D )  
> https://theylovedeachotherzine.tumblr.com/post/176680246268/dont-forget-9-days-left-for-pre-orders-to-end


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sepsis- Blood poisoning -> often accompanied by delirious states, even comatose in worst case.  
> Lorazepam- anxiolytic benzodiazepine  
> meropenem, piptaz, clary - Names, or rather nicknames for antibiotics  
> catecholamines- Noradrenaline, Adrenaline etc. usually used to keep the circulation up.  
> Gangrene- dead cells due to ischemia, don't google this if ur stomach is weak (If u think it is interesting google "Burn gangrene" and u will see how the arm might look)
> 
> If i forgot any explanation, ask away!

Chapter 3.

  
  


Jack manages to spend the week juggling night shifts not thinking to much about the person above him. At least he tries not to; Gabriel still manages to wriggle himself into every nook and cranny of Jack’s mind

 

The Lorazepam he keeps in a drawer in his nightstand was his only promise of a night’s rest and he hates himself for the reliance on the sleeping aid. Knowing the risk of regular intake, and he often spends nights awake anyway. 

 

The coffee in his cup is stale but he thanks Lena anyway with a wave of his hand. She means well, handing him the beverage after his head almost kissed the table minutes ago.

 

“I swear to god, one more night and I am done for! I need my social life back!” the nurse complained, waving her own cup up and about, not afraid to spill any of it on the table in the break room.

 

“Came with the job description,” Jack mumbles into the muddy drink.

 

“I didn’t  sign up for this,” she retorts and blows a bang out of her face. The bags under her eyes have become more prominent within the last three days and the ever present smile has dimmed quite a fraction.

 

“Was in the terms and conditions,” he replies gruffly and she snorts.

 

“Who ever reads those?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Half a minute is spent in comfortable silence when Lena perks up all of sudden.

 

“Oh! Almost forgot! Angie called a while ago, asked for your consultation on a case.” She tilts her head and goes on. “Any idea what that is about?”

 

Jack thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. Unusual is an understatement. The burn unit worked with the surgeons and other medical experts on those matters. The emergency department was left out of it. And now especially on a night. Weird.

 

Jack takes out his phone and dials the required shortcut. A second later someone picks up.

 

“Jack? Thank god. Can you come up right now I need your input.” The voice of Angela Ziegler sounded out of breath, a sign that she likely was in one of the patient’s rooms.

 

“Give me a moment,” he replies into the speaker, then turns to Lena. “Can you manage without me for a moment?”

 

Lena blinks for a moment then grins. “Sure, Doc. Tell Angie I said hi! We’re going to give you a call if hell starts freezing and all!”

 

“I can hear her just fine. Hello Lena!” Angela’s voice resounds from the phone, mirth apparent through the line. An order is muffled in the background along with the ripping of some package. 

 

Jack decides to make his way upstairs.

 

“Call me if something comes up,” Jack calls to Lena, already half out the door. 

 

The ER could manage without him for a bit with another ED on duty. Angela however was alone for the night and he was not one to deny help when needed.

 

An elevator ride later found him on the burn unit. He shoves aside the thought of who else lay here and turned to the counter where a young, dark skinned nurse greets him with a friendly wave.

 

“Heyo! Room 29, Angie is waitin’.”

 

Jack nods a thanks and heads for said room, inwardly dreading the humid air and protective gear. A reason not to work in this department. How Angela did it most of the day was mystifying.

 

After gearing up and stepping into the room he took in the sight of Angela, equally mummed and a young man, white as a sheet and sweating rivulets.

 

His friend wastes no time with a greeting and points to the left arm instead. Not only is it heavily burnt (Jack guessed third to fourth degree), it is also reddened beyond normal and gangrenous.

 

“The second burn victim from last week. Jesse McCree. Extubated two days ago but yesterday temperature rose to thirty nine degrees, right now it’s at thirty eight.” Angela paused, frowned and adjusted the speed of the infusion. Hypotonia. “We went with a cycle of meropenem, piptaz and Clary. He is getting worse Jack.”

 

The man, no, almost a boy looks at him. Pupils pinpricks from te opioids infused to keep pain at bay. His brown eyes clouded.

 

“‘S okay Doc,” he slurs as his breathing accelerates. “You’ll stitch me up good.”

 

Angela frowns but doesn’t comment on it. The nurse — Jack hadn’t even noticed him following, it was the one from the counter — brushed the sweaty bang from the forehead after connecting another i.V drip.

 

“He is septic Angela, you know this.” 

 

Jack dreads what is about to come and he takes another look at the young man, pity forming  a hole into his gut.

 

Angela’s face is pleading and he remembers the last time he saw her like that. She always held a soft spot for the young ones.  

 

“We have no time for cultures and he isn’t reacting to the antibiotics. He’s already on catecholamines.”

 

As if that was the cue Angela nods.

 

“I feared.” She looks at the boy... young man, Jack corrects himself, he spots a small soul patch. “Doctor Gibbon is on duty and you know there are always the dollar signs in his eyes.”

 

Jack shakes his head goes for the emergency cabinet prominent in every room.

 

“Lucio, I want you to call Doctor Gibbons. Tell him about the situation and to prepare for-” Angela stops at that, a sad look spent on the young man. “Surgery. I fear the limb is beyond saving.”

 

Immediately after the words sink in the young man starts trashing.

 

“No!” he shouts and Jack feels so sorry for him even though the procedure is necessary. 

 

He grabs the healthy arm and shoulder to keep the man somewhat down. Another nurse has come in to prepare the anaesthetic while the young man babbles incoherently between sobs.

With the wound closer to his nose, the smell of decay and rotten flesh meets his nostrils and tries hard to keep the disgust out of his face.

 

“Jesse,” Angela says calmly. “Jesse!” Louder this time and the young man whimpers as he looks up at her. His breath comes in short rapid bursts and Jack wished the tube was already in.

 

“We’ll have to intubate you again,” Angela explains calmly and Jack once more admires her ability to give people hope and assurance when needed. “You will lose your arm but I promise you, we will do anything to help you get better.” 

 

The boy wriggles a bit under Jack’s grip and sobs. “I want my dad,” is what he says next and an awkward silence follows on the side of the medical group.

 

The nurse hands the sedative surreptitiously to Angela who strokes the boys hand once more.

 

“I’ll give you something to sleep now. You won’t notice anything.”

 

The boy whimpers once, squeezes his eyes shut but then Jack feels him gradually relax under his hands and he deems it safe to let go.

 

A deep sigh escapes his lips as he cranes his neck.

 

“You could have made the decision yourself,” he states as he prepares the intubation. A voice from the door calls the surgery prep in progress and he moves to the end of the bed, the nurse assisting from the side.

 

Angela frowns but does not reply.

 

“He doesn’t blame you,” Jack continues and slides the tube down the trachea.

 

“Not anymore,” she replies almost too quiet to pick up on.

 

“Oh yes, he married you because he hates you, I get it.” 

 

Angela stomps on his foot at that. She looks weary, lips set tight and forehead creased ever so slightly.

 

“It’s not that,” she says. “I just wonder: am I really saving all these people? Or am I condemning them to something they loathe every day.”

 

“Genji has accepted what happened to him. You know this.”

 

“This isn’t about Genji!” Angela hisses, half to hush him. 

 

Jack feels sorry for mentioning him in the presence of others. Privacy and all.

 

“This is about everyone we just amputate while they are half mad with pain or fever!”

 

Jack shakes his head, adjusts the settings on the ventilation. “What do you propose then? We let them die?” 

 

No response and Jack looks up, Angela looks resigned, helpless. He sighs.

 

“The world is not black and white. A lot of people live fulfilling lives even after bad accidents,” Jack says and winces inwardly, when had he become such a sap?

 

Angela bites her lip but doesn't answer. 

 

“The boy will live is that not enough?” Jack regrets the sentence once it is past his lips, those are not his words. He has stolen them from a memory years in the past.

 

_ I made that decision without consulting you, commander. He will live is that not enough? _

 

Jack had taken the brunt of the consequences back then, faced down their superiors. For Gabriel’s insubordination, everything for Gabriel. Or so it seemed. In the end all he did was work against him, _ them _ .

 

“Sometimes I wonder if it is a price I would pay,” Angela says quietly, only for them to hear. The nurse had left a while ago to get a mobile ventilation machine.

 

“I wonder,” Jack replies wistfully. 

 

The young man’s chest rises and falls all the while.   
  


  
  
  


  
The content of their conversation haunts him for days after. A limb yes, it is easy to live like that these days, paraplegia? No. And yet in his career there have been people who had to wake up to, have nothing below their neck function the way it used to do. 

  
Jack imagines he wouldn’t exactly thank the doctor with a bouquet for saving his life. 

 

Then he remembers Genji, Angela’s now husband who came into the ER three years ago. Nobody believed in his survival. He did make it however, and when he woke up, the first action was to refuse any further treatment, cursing them all to hell.

 

Jack frowns, trying to remember who it was that convinced the young man otherwise but he can’t seem to bring it back to his mind. He was more focused on keeping himself afloat then, along with supporting Angela who was devastated by her young patient’s reaction. Asking now of all things would be a strange notion.

  
He runs a hand through his graying hair and exhales deeply.   
  
At least both of them are happy now, or so he hopes. Genji got used to his prosthetics and most people don’t even notice the mechanical legs and arm under the clothing. That man was nimble as a cat thanks to technology.    
  
“Dr. Morrison! Glad to see you here!” 

  
Jack turns around to face the owner of the deep calm voice of Dr. Winston Junior. 

  
“Dr. Winston,” Jack says and flashes a smile. It pulls at the scar on his lip a little and looks wretched probably. They had never gone on a first name basis at work, and his old acquaintance did not exactly like being called Harold anyway. 

 

“Say, may I call in a favor from you?” The man flushes slightly, darkening his skin even further. He hadn’t grown into the role of manager yet but it was only a question of time till he became more self confident.

 

“Depends,” Jack says and busies his fingers with a pen from the office stash on the counter.

 

“The IMC is short on physicians because of pregnancy and illness. We need to fill in the spots to ensure patient safety and as the ER has the best staff ratio…”

 

Jack’s eyebrows draw together; nevermind his lack of experience with intermediate care, he is an ED first and foremost. 

 

Dr. Winston seems to pick up on his thought process and adjusts his black rimmed glasses. “Of course you will at no point be working alone. Procedures are quite similar as well and you are the doctor i trust most to be up to the challenge.” His expression hardens. “We already have new applicants but they have to be…” his brows draw a line and his lips thin in thought. “...shown the ropes. It would only be for a month or so, I assure you.”

 

Dr. Winston looks at him pleadingly as Jack shakes his head. Sighs.

 

“I don’t know-” Jack starts but the crushed look on Dr. Winston's face stops him as guilt, an immediate baggage, settles into his gut. He grimaces. “Give me a bit to think about it,” he mutters, reluctant. 

 

The doctors’ face lights up like a christmas tree and he pats Jack’s shoulder, the massive hand pushing him down a bit. “Thanks, Dr. Morrison! Let me know by the end of the week if possible as it is scheduled starting next month!”

 

Jack blinks twice, about to reply, but the back of the chief administrator is already moving out of his view. He groans and earns a few curious stares for that. Ignoring them he rifles through a new set of files on the counter with new vigour.

 

What shit did he just sign up for? A maybe was as good as a yes anyway in this hospital. 

_ Give them a finger and they’ll take your hand, arm and eat you alive. _ __  
__  
“Dr. Morrison?” Jack closes his eyes for a moment, draws a deep breath, then turns around to answer the new nurse. Orisa? Jack thinks Lena said her name was. He doesn’t risk it and squints at her name tag. It indeed says “Nurse M. Orisa.”    
  
“Yes?” he asks and he must have come off gruff since the woman holds her hands up apologetically.    
  
“There is a girl asking for you at the reception,” she states matter of factly and raises an eyebrow as if daring him to snap at her. 

 

Jack’s shoulders droop while he wonders who it could be.    
  
“I have no appointment scheduled,” he grumbles morosely. 

 

The nurse crosses her arms. “The girl is specially asking for the “shrink” called Morrison,” Orisa says wriggling her fingers, amusement apparent in her voice. She then flashes a bright white grin made even brighter by her ebony skin. 

 

It takes a moment for the penny to drop in his mind but then the picture of a young girl on the burns unit pops up in his head. His jaw tightens. 

 

“Thank you,” he grits out and places the papers behind the monitor. Data protection be damned.    
  


The nurse nods once, then moves down the hallway. 

 

Jack himself makes his way along to the ER reception wondering about the unbidden visitor. There is no special reason for the girl to remember him and he feels half compelled to tell her to go home. A part of him is curious however as to why she would seek him out after their last meeting and he walks on until he stops in front of the waiting room.

 

“Finally,” a voice next to him says and he flinches, reminder of reflexes long dulled. 

 

Jack glares at the girl who appeared out of nowhere. “Don’t do that,” he says and the girl shrugs without a care.

 

“No need to get your panties in a twist.” she says, twirling  her locks around her finger. The tips are purple, he notices now. 

 

He braces himself and musters what he hopes is a stern gaze. “What do you want?”

 

The girl crosses her arms and looks around. “I am here on an errand,” she says and nibbles on her bottom lip, her brightly colored fingernails suddenly more interesting than meeting his eyes.

 

Jack draws his eyebrows together and waits for her to continue.

 

“Male. 20 Years. Initial admittance because of severe burn received in car crash,” she rattles it off like a practised line. “Extubation without problems, showed septic symptoms stemming from E. Coli infection of the left arm. About two weeks ago. Fulminant development, thus amputation was required.” She stops, takes a breath and smirks. “Ring any bells?”

 

Angela’s patient. Gabriel’s boy. Sibling of the girl. Of course it had to be like that. Different surnames aside, the world worked to get at him every day. He scoffs and draws his eyebrows together.

 

“Jesse MCCree,” he says. A particular name. Particular enough to remember at least. 

 

The girls relaxes and nods. “Makes things easier. You're sharp.”

 

Jack isn’t sure if he should take any words the teen utters to heart. He scratches his head and shifts his weight onto his good leg.

 

“Look. Make it quick and we can get this done with. I don't have time for long tea parties.”

 

The girl smirks. “See, on the night my dearest brother got oh so sick, another doctor appeared. Or so he claimed.” She pauses and makes a circling motion next to her head. “Ramblings of a sick person, Yes? Usually.” She draws the last word out and fucking  _ winks _ . 

 

Jack doesn’t know what to make of this girl, he really doesn't. He huffs, opens his his mouth but is interrupted.

 

“And yet!” she says and her icy gaze meets his in earnest for the first time in their conversation. “He very accurately described a blond, blue eyed doctor, with a permanent frown and very prominent scars on his face.”

 

She bends two fingers of her right hand into bunny ears while a technician walking by looks at them curiously. Wrong location for a talk? Only a little.

 

“Get to the point,” he grumbles. He knows he could just walk away at any given time. Damn his curiosity to the stars and back. Next to it, stood impatience with the same height however, not his strongest suit by any stretch.

 

“Yes yes,“ she says, clearly unimpressed as she studies her nails once more. “He begged me to find out who that doctor was since everybody told him it was a fiction caused by the fever.” She rolls her eyes and Jack bites his lip, barely hiding a smile.

 

Of course they would. It had been an undocumented consultation for a friend. Nothing official. For all the personnel knew, it hadn't happened. It would undermine Dr. Gibbon’s and Angela’s authority after all.

 

“A shame since I met a shrink before who oddly fit the description.”

 

Jack starts to think the flair for the dramatics stemmed from Gabriel. He’ll swear his pants on it. The favorite, faded blue ones. 

 

She pulls out her phone again as it vibrates.

 

She might be worse. At least Gabriel held eye contact. 

 

Jack runs his hand through his hair again and huffs.    
  
“He wants to thank you personally.” She shrugs “Don’t see the sense in that but he was insistent.”    
  
“And you couldn’t have told me from the start? ‘ _ My brother whose arm was amputated wants to thank the doctor who made the decision. _ ’” His nose scrunches up as he tries to make sense of it. The boy had seen him once and now wanted to thank him? Talk about weird, it was not unusual for people to try and gather what had happened during their illness. Few remembered their time in the ICU, some even came to visit to regain some memories. Rare as the latter was.

  
Nobody had ever asked for Jack though.

 

For one, he didn’t work on either ICU nor burns unit. Second, his face wasn’t exactly the one people wished to wake up to after a traumatic incident. Self-consciously his fingers trace his scar before he remembers himself and feigns the motion to be a scratch. _Very subtle, Morrison._   
  
The girl huffs and steps away from the wall she had been leaning on. “Now where is the fun in that?” she grins and flips her hair back. “I have time, so if you need to finish stuff, I can wait. And after, we head upstairs, yeah?”  
  
“I didn’t agree to anything-” Jack starts as she shakes her head and interrupts him. He is starting to feel an itch in his legs and arms. Fight or flight response.   
  
“The nurse asked who I was and I told her you were our uncle and oh so worried.” She has the audacity to wink at that and shake her head in amusement. “She tells me you’re not very busy and I am free to kidnap you.” 

 

Jack crosses his arms and he gathers a deep breath. 

  
“Her words, not mine. The kidnapping.” She cocks an eyebrow and gives a small wave to someone behind them. 

 

Jack turns and sees nurse Orisa waving at them with her bright white smile. He narrows his eyes and returns his attention to the girl giving him the bunny fingers. Again.   
  
“And you have accumulated a total of one hundred and eight hours overtime,” she says and Jack is about to ask how she knows the exact amount when she holds her finger to her lips in a shushing motion and smirks. “So tell me once you are ready.” 

 

She leans on the wall again, fingers rapidly tapping and stroking on her phone, while somewhere in between a pair of plug in earphones appeared out of thin air. She is about to put them in when Jack interrupts her.   
  
“Don’t bother,” he grits out between his teeth and makes motion towards the elevators. “Let’s just get this over with.”   
  
The expression of flat out glee that appears on her face on that made him almost reconsider his decision. He notices a hand stretched out and frowns.   
  
“Where are my manners?” 

 

_ Yes, where?  _ he thinks. 

 

“Sombra. Pleasure to meet you Dr. Morrison.”   
  
He grasps her hand a bit too tightly, though her smile does nothing to diminish. What is he doing, picking fights with kids? 

 

He follows behind her without another word.

  
  
  
  


Barely two minutes later the elevator stops on the second floor and they pass a door to their left reading ICU- authorized personnel only. It had the latter in common with the burns unit on the other side.

  
Jack shakes his head, and walks over to the burns unit’s door. Visitors are informed by a sign to _r_ _ in g the bell to the right and take a seat in the waiting area _ meaning a small vestibule. Employees have the right to use their keycard for entry and Jack presses his onto a small panel. A split second and the doors swing open with an electrical hum.

  
The burns unit is as warm as every time he visits. The hallway doesn’t compare to the rooms in heat and humidity but close enough to make Jack want to take one last gulp of fresh, clean air before stepping in. 

 

They are neither held back nor questioned when they enter the airlock. Jack looks at Sombra, who has not made a move to clothe herself.

 

“I am good for today. Got all sweaty once today, no need for another round.” Her nose crinkles and she sticks out her tongue.

 

Jack grouches at the shrewdness of the girl but doesn't comment on it further. Instead he gears himself up and prepares for the inevitable heat that hits him once the door to the room opens.

 

The young man from last time looks up as he enters. His skin has regained some of the rosy brown color, his brown eyes, clear and attentive, fix on him. First there is surprise, then understanding and something else flickers there: recognition? Embarrassment? 

 

Jack cannot put a name on it.

 

“Hey there,” Jesse McCree says and a bright smile appears on his lips as he waves with his remaining arm. The stump on the left is tightly wound in bandages, as is part of the thorax. A small pang of pity pulls on Jack’s heart strings as he nods in greeting.

 

“Doctor Morrison?” the young man asks and Jack nods again, dumbly, like a puppet. “I’d say welcome to mi casa but not much of a casa here, ain’t it?” Jesse says and the smile turns wry. “Anyway. Thank ya for comin’. Hope my l sis didn’t bother you too much.” 

 

Jack raises an eyebrow. Jesse’s face reddens and scratches his neck.

 

“She doesn’t mean bad.” A  _ sometimes _ hung in the air while Jesse grinned apologetically, adds: “Most of the time.” 

 

Jack casts a doubtful look at the closed door behind him and crosses his arms. An action he immediately regrets because the sweat on his skin sticks to the plastic of the protective gear. He makes a face and hopes Jesse doesn’t catch it with the mask covering his mouth and nose.

 

“I asked her to find you, she is good at that and all that technology stuff, ya know? Imagine I wake up and everyone says what I saw wasn’t real. Weird, I tell ya.” He frowns and grabs for something that isn’t under his pillow because he grumbles something unintelligible. 

 

That information explained how she found out his overtime load. Not that the hospital used the most protective systems.

 

“I asked to find her the blond doctor with blue eyes and a huge ass scar and she said.  _ Kay what are you paying _ ?” He pauses, smirks. “Can you believe she charged me twenty dollar and a pack of gum?”   
  
Jack wipes the sweat from his brow and Jesse’s smile turns sheepish.

 

“So you thought I was a figment of your imagination and wanted to deny it,” Jack sums up and takes in the machines. A lot less infusions run than last time he had been there. No hemodialysis. Jack can’t help but feel satisfied that the boy has recovered so well.

 

Jesse face blanks out for a moment, eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly until he focuses back on Jack. “Yeah.” he says and bites his lips. “She told you I wanted to thank you?”, he continues after a moment of stifled silence.

 

Jack nods, unsure where the conversation is going.

 

“Just let me...” The young man turns towards the nightstand to his right and mumbles something to himself. Apparently he has trouble finding it, as he runs his hand through the drawer several times. “Now where did she put it?” he mumbles and Jack notices the sweat beading on his forehead and consecutively decides to draw a line.

 

“Let me,” he interrupts and moves towards the nightstand to retrieve whatever Jesse was looking for.

 

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it, the green plastic bag.” 

 

Jack digs said item out under a crumpled towel.

 

“Sorry. Didn’t get to wrap it proper.”

 

“For me?” Jack asks and Jesse nods in response, shrugging. “Got the lady doc some as well. She seemed mighty happy.”

 

“Oh, thanks,” Jack replies and takes  to unwrapping the plastic foil. It reveals a package of: black licorice. Jack immediately makes a face, tries to hide it behind a badly acted cough. “It is definitely nice of you,” he says and decides to let the nurses of the ER have to whole item. All of it, preferably in his absence since the smell alone rises the bile within his throat.

 

An incident in the past has kept him from ever trying that stuff again. Will keep him from ever trying that stuff again. Be it in pure or processed form. Sober or inebriated.

 

Instead of disappointment or apologies, Jesse looks actually amused for whatever reason. Was black licorice a joke among the youths these days? Jack wouldn’t know since the only contact he has with them is through his work.

 

He gazes out of the window for a moment, the sun almost setting and realizes it is almost time to go home. Something he dreads more than ever since his dreams have turned more wrathful within the last weeks. The permanent stimuli are taking their toll on his mind apparently.

 

“Anyway.” Jesse interrupts his train of thought. “Thanks for saving my ass back then. They believe I can move to another station soon for the prosthetics stuff and some healing.”

 

“Glad to hear that,” Jack replies. He shuffles his feet and fixes his gaze on the bed linens that bear some remains of breakfast. Crumbs of the deadly-dry bread in the hospital. Jesse must be really leaving the burns unit soon. “I must go. Other patients need attending to.” He lies and puts on an air of professionalism. 

 

McCree smiles and waves him goodbye. A small ache pulls at his intestines. Deep breath, pull through.

 

He does not see Sombra on his way out. Nor anyone else for that matter. The licorice is heavy in his hand and Jack is tempted to just throw it in the next trash can. He feels bad immediately. The likely relation to Gabriel should not cloud his judgement on what was surely a well meant gift. 

 

He runs a damp hand through his hair in frustration and inhales, exhales.

 

Jesse is his own person and he means well. Just a present from a patient and nothing at all related to Gabriel. Jack has trouble getting these thoughts out of his head while he makes his way through the hospital a second time that day.

 

He drops the slightly crumpled package on the table in the break room and throws his lab coat on the dingy sofa in the back. With the phone in his hand he almost asks Angela about the present, stops himself at the last second, curses.

 

_ Soldier76 wrote at 20:21 _

_ “Ange?” _

_  
_ _ Doc_Mercy wrote at 20:22 _

_ Jack? _

_  
_ _ Soldier76 wrote at 20:22 _

_ “Nothing. Sorry to bother you.” _

_  
_ _ Doc_Mercy wrote at 20:23 _

_ Now I am curious o_ô _

_  
_ Jack chuckles at the use of the emoji but doesn’t bother replying. Doesn’t feel like explaining himself.Instead, he glances at the licorice once, twice. As he leaves the hospital the abomination is securely stored in his backpack. Heavy in a wholly different sense.

 

That night he dreams of a New Years Eve long gone, an alcoholic beverage entirely too black and stares too long to be of innocent nature. 

 

It is peaceful at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sombra. She is great. Also Jesse is pretty out of it while septic, imagine someone tells you your arm will be cut off while u are already feeling sick. poor guy!
> 
> Also Lucio cameo, yussss.
> 
> Also Gency! I know many see this ship as... problematic and that is totally true. From a professional view dating someone who is or was your patient is seen as unethical and frowned upon. Mercy isn't perfect, Genji is a consenting adult. I don't want to make a discussion out of this because I know one or people who went down that way and have healthy wholesome relationships (despite the look they got, one even told me that these looks are the worst.)  
> So my characters are faulty and I write them like that cause it is more realistic. Also they are very happy in this fanfic.
> 
> Again! special thanks to EdgeLady for suffering through the hell that is my writing. THANK U  
> Thank u for ur lovely comments tho I am a bit behind on responding. very sorry!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tachycardia- heart beats too fast  
> anuria- not enough urine produced   
> Hemofiltration - Dialysis  
> idek if u use the word kidneystart in english but I allowed myself a literal translation - The moment after you take of the hemofiltration you induce a kidneystart usually by volume and diuretics or wait to see what happens if "the kidney starts" thus kidneystart.

 

  
Jack had been sorely mistaken about his assumption that his meeting with Gabe’s kids (kids, because what else could they be?) would stop now that all had been said and done.

 

Within the last two weeks Sombra sought him out several times, to chat or to tamper with her own phone without regard to his presence. As she had put it, he could translate all the “medical mumbo jumbo” and didn’t seem too busy most of the time. 

 

A false presumption on her part, though Jack does not bother to correct her.

 

He does wonder whether she goes to school regularly. But the question is answered with a shrug and a waggle of eyebrows. Some things better left unanswered, then. 

 

A more recent development was that Jesse had started come by from the sixth floor where rehabilitation took place.

 

“They tell me a week or so and the graft’ll have adapted enough or somethin’. Physiotherapy’s still a pain in the ass.”   
  
The young man leans on the counter, picking at the bandage still encasing most of his shoulder and thorax. He’s been talking about the proceedings for ten minutes and Jack has begun to tune him out. He pretends to listen, nods absentmindedly while scribbling his signature on prescription after prescription.

 

He questions himself why not only Sombra but Jesse too visit him. He has yet to ask. He isn’t one for conversation;  a grumble or a nod is all they get in response. But both talk. A lot.

 

Maybe they consider him a good listener? He doesn’t tell them to scram so that might encourage them to seek him out. 

 

Jack spares a glance at the young man. This one in particular. Jesse appears to know most of the staff by name and Jack speculates how much time he actually spends in his room. Or if he returned to his room at all other than to sleep.

 

“ — nd i swear Efi is just the cutest lil’ gal. She goes right up and asks where my arm is, Nurse O about to scold her when I tell her I can attach and detach it and I left it at home. So I had ta promise her ta bring it next time — ” Jesse says at one point. 

 

Jack tries to remember who Nurse O and Efi are. He gives up a moment  later and lets the wave of Jesse’s narration roll over him.

 

“Heya Doc, Heya Jesse!” Lena says, passing by with two big suitcases. Jack raises an eyebrow. Another new friend for Jesse it seems, as the young man rushes over and offers to help her bring the heavy objects up to another floor.

 

The second they are out of sight a shadow looms over his documents and Jack grunts in displeasure.

 

“Are you pulling a Pied piper of Hamelin? You sure are attracting those kids a great deal.” 

 

Jack turns around on his swivel chair to fix onto Angela with a deadpan stare.

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replies sardonically.

 

“Yesterday that girl, today McCree. And don’t you dare denying slipping little Efi that candybar when no one was looking.” 

 

Ah, Efi was that dark skinned little girl with the braids. Now he remembered.

 

“I don’t like sweets.”

 

“And I don’t like mondays, yet, here I am.” Angela smiles and seats herself on a chair that makes a sound akin to a dying whale as her weight settles. She pulls a face and leans back. The sound repeats. “A little bird told me you’d be helping out on the intermediate care starting tomorrow?” 

 

Jack grimaces and shrugs. 

 

“We all dig our own graves,” he says and sighs, then adds begrudgingly. “I should just retire, reduce my hours or something.” 

 

He won’t. They both know it and although Angela is aware of the tilt in his cupboard stuffed with issues, she humors him.

 

“You? Never. You will still sit here and oversee the interns cleaning the floors with nothing but toothbrushes when I am already looking at the beets from down below.”

 

Jack chuckles and shakes his head in bemusement. “Only if I get to wear socks and sandals.”

 

Angela mock gasps and her eyes crinkle. “Call the fashion police we got a first grade offender here!”

 

Jack sighs and leans back, craning his neck. “It is comfortable.” He pauses, notices the bag next to her feet. “You are off shift and still here?”

 

“Says the permanent fixture of the ER.” She rolls her eyes. “I am waiting for my — ” 

 

It is astounding how features can change within a matter of seconds. Exhaustion gone from her features, a bright smile accompanied by a faint flush on her cheeks appears. Angela is already beautiful but the way she looks in her husband's presence makes her truly radiate.

 

“Good evening Jack.”

 

The young man gives a peck on Angela’s cheek and he too shines. Jack feels a pang of envy spark in his chest that he quickly shoves away in favor of greeting the man.

 

“Hey Genji, looking good.”

 

The young man smiles, mouth slightly lopsided due to scars left by a fire. The plastic surgery had fixed what they could but some things would never heal. The lower half of his face and most of his thorax would never look the same. It was a miracle the young man could live without artificial ventilation at all. Genji truly had the devil’s luck.

 

“Same to you. I swear I could eat a horse. The physiotherapist is trying to kill me. Ange, tell her to stop bullying me.”

 

Angela rolls her eyes playfully and crosses her arms. “Mei only has your best in mind I believe.” She pinches her husband's stomach and he yelps in surprise. “You sure can use the exercise.”

 

Jack chuckles while Genji whines and rubs his belly.

 

“Et tu, Brute?” he says and glares at Jack who shrugs. 

 

A bypassing assistant stares at them curiously and Jack remembers a time when those had been filled with hostility towards Angela for marrying her former patient. Ethics aside, they are happy. That has to count for something, didn’t it?

 

He looks at the two lovestruck fools and shakes his head. Unusual but nothing he would condemn his friend for. It was still a topic for gossip though and Jack hoped Angela didn’t take it to heart these days.

 

“My therapy almost kills me, my wife calls me fat and now even the good doctor!” Genji makes a dramatic pause, then sighs. “I think I will need some fast food to cure the heartbreak.”

 

“I think fast food will make your heart break,” Angela mutters but the small smile tells Jack that she does not mind the idea all that much.

 

Jack waves them goodbye as they disappear through the double door before he goes to attend to his patients.

 

He doesn’t see the message from Angela until later.

 

_ Doc_Mercy wrote at 19:45: _

_ Genji says you look like the walking dead. If even he notices it… _

_ Try not overwork yourself, I don’t like picking up the pieces.  _

 

_ Old_Soldier wrote at 02:07 _

_ K. _

  
  
  


The next day finds Jack on the IMC at exactly noon. The noise of the monitors echoes through the hallway and Jack sighs audibly. A nurse walks up to him a moment later and looks him up and down.

 

“Doctor Morrison I presume?” she says and the deep bags under her eyes speak of a hellish shift. 

 

Jack holds back a second exhale. He nods. “Jack is alright,” he mutters and frowns when she doesn’t reply. 

 

She blinks and yawns widely. “Sorry,” she mumbles and for a moment he believes she will keel right over. “‘S just the flu going round. You will have to work alone with Gabrielle, I mean Dr. Adawe.” She starts walking. Jack follows behind.

 

It is not as bad as expected. The first hour is Dr. Adawe introducing the station, the organisational structure and their tasks to him. The next two are spent on the visitation of the ten patients of a possible twelve. The phone rings after the third.

 

“Dr. Morrison IMC,” he answers while he adjusts the settings on a hemofiltration. The patient is fast asleep and of brown yellowish color. Jack wonders why he isn’t back in the ICU yet.

 

“Why hello there, Dr. Morrison,” the sonorous voice of Dr. Moira O’Deorain replies. “When did you rotate? Nevermind, the patient the IMC agreed to take this morning is ready for transfer.”

 

“What patient?” Jack asks and he swears he can hear her mutter something less than friendly.

 

“Dr. Adawe knows all about it. We need to free the room for someone coming up. Is twenty minutes sufficient for you?”

 

“Dr.-” Jack starts but is cut off. Something he really dislikes about the woman is how wayward she is.

 

“Thanks. I’ll send him over. Room seven if I remember correctly.”

 

The call cuts off and Jack is left dumbfounded. The nurse next to him raises an eyebrow.

 

“Patient for room seven. Twenty minutes tops.”

The young woman groans and gets up from her seat.

 

“O’Deorain? I swear that woman has no idea how the hospital works beside her little zoo,” she says and mutters something else that is lost to Jack as he heads for the room.

 

Next he calls Dr. Adawe to inform her of the surprise. A frustrated sound can be heard on the other side of the line and Jack can't help but give a wry smile. 

 

“I swear if I ever get the chance to send her a patient…” she growls and mumbles something unintelligible. “I am stuck on the cardiology unit right now, can you do the initial transfer? The nurses should be able to help you.” 

 

Someone shouts in the background, feet can be heard running.

 

“She give you a name?”

 

“No?”

 

“Of fucking course. Best of luck, soldier. I’ll be back down asap.”

 

Jack grimaces at the phrase and distracts himself from “ _ Good luck out there, Soldier. Don’t die on me, Soldier,”  _ by heading for room seven, into which the bed is just disappearing. He shakes his head at the suddenness of the transfer and the lack of information. 

 

He knows why he works in the ED, alright. No down transfers.

 

Another nurse, he recognizes him from several ATL calls, approaches him with an apologetic grin.

 

“Heya, sorry about this you know how how it goes up here.” 

 

Apparently Dr. O’Deorain hasn’t made herself popular today. 

 

“It’s alright,” Jack grumbles for the lack of a better answer and almost feels sorry when the nurse flinches a bit. Was he really that gruff?

 

The young man stammers and flushes. “The patient is stable so far except for dependency on Oxygen and occasional tachycardia. He experienced anuria and went for the hemofiltration on our station... kidneystart went positively though, you will want to keep an eye on that, since the burn wounds still exudate quite badly. There is a ringer solution running right now.”

 

The burns unit nurse shrugs helplessly and Jack sighs.

 

“Thanks. His file?” he asks and the nurse scratches his head. 

 

“Gave it to your colleague

 

Said nurse strides past them with a grim expression.

 

“No temperature adapter, as always. File’s in the room. Might take a moment to procure one of those.” 

 

The nurse from the burns unit fidgets pitifully. Then takes several steps back. “Uh, well. I’ll be off…. Then. Goodbye.” 

 

Jack massages his temples as he watches the blue clad nurse disappear. He needs a coffee. The patient comes first though and he is really glad that it is not a patient with multi resistant bacteria requiring isolation gear. 

 

Perhaps the nurse forgot to tell him. Either way, Jack steps into the room wholly unprepared to face Gabriel Reyes. Who currently is scratching his regrowing beard. He has yet to notice Jack’s entrance who stares, transfixed, on the man’s biceps. Compared to Jack, Gabriel has aged well. The long stay in the hospital only hinting at the muscle he must have had before, since there is still a lot of it. 

 

Jack dry swallows. The hospital gown hides very little of the arms and legs as the man is sitting on the edge of the bed. Few gray hairs sprout among his unkempt black curls while Jack’s is almost completely white these days. His right side is still wrapped in gauze and tight bandages. 

 

Jack’s eyes skip to an exposed wound on the left of his hip. Jack remembers that one. A gun accidentally fired by a civilian. He sucks in a breath when he smells the blood and feels the stickiness on his fingers as he applies pressure.

 

He returns and Gabriel is looking at him.

 

He can’t interpret the emotion on the man’s face. Blank would be one word to put it.

 

“Jack.”

 

Something flickers through the man’s eyes,concern? Hope? It’s gone too fast but his name is spoken clip and curt. It cuts like the shard of broken glass. Still unexpected after all this time.

 

“Gabriel.”

 

Jack is surprised he can form the word at all with how dry his mouth has turned. Thoughts race through his head as he stares straight ahead. Through Gabriel. Someone painted the wall a mint green and there is a yellowish stain just behind the other man’s head. He focuses on that.

 

“What the hell,” is all Gabriel says as his eyebrows draw together. The monitor beeps in alarm as his heart rate climbs from 90 to 130. 

 

Jack opens his mouth. Tries to explain but all he can taste is dust in his throat, restricting his voice. He snaps his mouth shut, swallows, closes his eyes.

 

_ You are in the hospital, Morrison. Get your act together. _

 

“Hello,” he manages and steadies himself.

 

“Confidential my ass!” Gabriel roars and rises. The clips of the electrocardiogram rip off, the monitor flat lines and reads  _ Electrodes missing _ . “You were alive you damn son of a bitch!” 

 

Jack recoils. His back meets the cool wall, a sharp contrast to the heat boiling in his body.

 

“You were too,” he rasps and bites down on his lower lip, drawing blood. The taste mixes with a memory of dust and smoke a Jack gasps for air.

 

“Fuck you, Morrison.”

 

The phrase reminds Jack of their last weeks together on the team. Words had been thrown and a “fuck you” was the least of it.

 

Neither of them speaks. The silence between them is deafening and yet Jack hears the grenades in the background and the screams of their men. The monitor asks for reattachment of electrodes. Jack’s breaths come fast and hard.

 

“I told you it was a trap,” Gabriel finally says and clenches his eyes shut for a moment. When they open again Jack notices the weariness within and sighs.

 

The wrong thing to do apparently. Flames spark in Gabriel's eyes as he spits out, “I didn’t die that day, Jack.” 

 

The last syllable is a whisper and as Jack moves his mouth to answer, the blood sticking to his gum, but he is cut off by the other man.

 

“Although I wished for some time I did.”

 

While Gabriel always used to have a flair for the dramatics, something told Jack there was nothing theatrical about his admission. The silence between them barely has a moment to stretch out newfound wings before Gabriel crushes them with these words.They are a stone crashing down on Jack’s rib cage.    
  
Jack feels a knot working in his throat. He opens his mouth but no sound emerges. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known  _ anything. _ Guilt burns in his gut, forces its way out and before he can stop, tries to excuse itself.

  
“We — I — ” he stops, his voice is distorted, syllabes croaked out as he chokes up. Tries once more. “They found your tags. I thought you were goddamn  _ dead _ !”

  
It takes all of his self perseverance to not break out into a scream here and now instead he bites the inner side of his cheek, his nails break the skin of his palm and he just wants to crumble and vanish.

  
“They told me you had died,” he says, a whisper, breaking near the end and he looks at Gabriel’s now furious expression, eyebrows drawn, eyes hardened and not at all like how they used to look at him. 

 

It still hurts. It hurts and Jack wants to ask when it will ever stop. His demons, his mistakes and his past catching up with him.    
  
_ Smoke and the feeling of being trapped, there is a weight on him, the pain is immense. He knows but his survival instinct will not let him feel it for now. The panic is real. The dust shows no intention of settling and he coughs, can’t breathe. Can’t fill his lungs they way they are supposed to. He grapples, loose rubble falling down on him.  _

__   
_ He knows he’s going to die and he regrets. Regrets never making it to his mother’s funeral because he was busy marching through the desert and his father hated him. Regrets never talking things out with Gabe, what was there to talk about again? Regrets never asking Melinda Jones for her new address in grade school when she moved to Cincinnati. He regrets never saving lives, only ever taking, taking what was easy when life was much more valuable and harder to give. Darkness envelops his vision as he tries to remember when the last time was he had eaten homemade lasagna.  _   
  
“And as always you just  __ took their shit. ” Gabriel is a seething arrow that had lodged itself right into his solar plexus and then sent out rapid signals of a ship sinking down into an ocean.

  
And yet, yet Jack feels like a fish out of water. Before he can get a grasp of what is happening with him, he knows, he knows too well, Gabriel continues. 

  
“You just assume and get on with what you are told. Such a boyscout you are”   
  
And Gabriel knows him. Has read the manual on the “ _ Fuck up that is Jack Morrison. _ ” He knows what hides behind the sanctimonious Jack pretending to be whatever people want him to be. He is the only one who cared to dig up the coffin and cake his hands in mud and dirt.

  
Jack can’t fathom how the man beyond whom Gabriel found hadn’t driven him away back then but it surely did now.

  
The hardened gaze on him, the elevation of heart frequency and blood pressure as told by the monitor behind Gabriel and Jack feels the muscles in his calves pulling taut.   
  
“I — ”   
  
“Coward.” Gabriel interrupts him, but Jack does the same.   
  
“Gabriel,” he hisses and furrows his brows. The rumbling of the ventilation up above grows in intensity, too much and too loud and if he could, Jack would want to wake up now.

 

_ This isn’t a dream. _

 

“I did what I had to, the terrorists — ”

 

“THERE WERE CIVILIANS, JACK!”

 

Gabriel’s voice bounces off the walls in the room, angry and loud. Jack knows these lines. A scene they played once before. A scene that replayed in his mind many times in the past. Jack briefly wonders why none of the nurses have checked in yet but is glad they haven’t. This is a situation he cannot explain to the staff.

 

“There were extremists hiding out in that building.” A stale sentence; an excuse to not crumble right here. 

 

He doesn't deserve it.

 

“And they lit the fucking bomb as I told you they would.”

 

_ The heat is scorching, unbearable and the team right in the middle. Jack jumps from the ledge without a second thought, hits the floor hard as his knees bend under the weight of a fifteen foot fall. The city mall is burning, multiple explosives, as predicted and Jack remembers his own “yes” against Gabriel’s “no” and the commanders order to “Do it.” _

 

“I couldn’t have known.”

 

_ He knew. _

 

His lip trembles as the words are uttered. Not his own. His superior’s in the hospital. They weren’t there, they weren’t trapped under layers of concrete and slabs.

 

The room is too small, his hand reaches for the mint green walls as it gets harder to breathe.   
  
He can’t collapse here. He can’t.

  
He is out of the too hot room before Gabriel can call him back and before him the hallway stretches endlessly as he passes people whose faces blend into the white of the walls. The smell of burning flesh follows him and he breaks into a run, nearly hitting someone, something. A mumbled apology, a brush of shoulders.   
  


He needs a way out. He cannot breath in here. The weight will crush him and take everything he loves. He has to get out before  _ it _ happens and buries him under dust and the blood of too many people.  _  Too many people have died for this, Soldier. _ __   
__   
_ It has to stop. _ __   
__   
It has to stop but Jack is weak and a coward —   
  
_ “Coward.” _   
  
It hurts, the arrow has struck and Jack cannot pull it out for he would bleed to death at the attempt. He has to take cover, else he be hit by whatever they are shooting at him and he feels sorry for all the people around him but he is a coward who can’t save anyone except for his own hide. A disgrace is what he is.   
  
He rounds a corner and it is there that his right legs, his bad leg decides to give out and he hits the ground, the abrasions on his face and arms a sting at the back of his mind. A weight follows however and he immediately starts trashing.   
  
_ The concrete won’t budge, his air supply is thinning and Jack hears the screams above. Children, women, men. _ __   
__   
He howls as he’s held down and something is jammed into his vein, burning its way through to his brain Several hands straddle him as his vocal cords burn dry from the noise that escapes through them.

  
Slowly but surely his vision blackens at the edges and he blinks for a last time until he falls into oblivion.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry about the late update, I got real sick on sunday and couldn't post then decided you might appreciate two chapters at once :) 
> 
> Many thanks to EdgeLady once more. 
> 
> Also the situation like with Moira legit happened today at work. "Patient from the EPU. we'll bring im up once we are done here." us "You'll call?" "yes sure" guess who didn't call. : )


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Propofol- A sedative associated with nightmares and retrograde amnesia.  
> Ativan - Benzodiazepine with anxiety reducing properties. carries risk of addiction.

Jack wakes up disoriented on a hard bed while a cool liquid is dabbed onto his cheek and chin. A groan works through his sore throat and he open his eyes to the stern face of Angela.   
  
“Ange?” he croaks and winces at the rawness of his throat.   
  
“Jack.”

  
She looks tired. Deep dark circles rim her eyes and her lips form a thin line. Close up, he notices the wrinkles around her mouth her eyes. When did that happen? Ever young Angela looked older than ever and now and he, still foggy in his head, wants to sit up and reach out, take her hand. There is resistance however and he gives up a second later, looks at her and open his mouth.   
  
“You should sleep,” he says. His speech is slurred and he wants to laugh as the reverse in their roles is almost comical if he weren’t lying down on a stretcher, fixed at arms, thorax and legs.

 

She doesn’t find any humour in the situation.  he scowls at his drowsy smile that appeared somewhere between his words.    
  
“This is not about me, Jack.” His name is like a whip as she replies sternly, dropping the cotton swab into the trash can with more force than necessary. “Do you even remember what happened?”   
  
“I got my fix?”    
  
The metaphorical clouds over her head brew and he sighs. He won’t get her with lighthearted jokes this time and that wasn’t right answer to go for. Jack relents quickly enough to dodge her lightning like wrath.    
  
“Had some trouble,” he says, a little too quickly and it emerges garbled. A mess is what he is, what he feels like. A train wreck.   
  
“Some trouble,” she repeats and crosses her arms. 

 

The blue surgical gloves she wears are too big on her hands. Jack focuses on the folds. He makes an affirmative noise and closes his his eyes.The vertigo diminishes.

 

He had had an attack in the hospital. Something that had never been an impossibility but had yet to happen. His breathing seizes up again and he counts to ten. His fists clench, fingernails dig into the crescent shaped, barely scabbed over marks on his palm.    
  
“Jack.” Angela’s voice sounds thicker than it should be. “They needed six people to keep you down and sedate you.”

 

Jack opens his eyes to Angela covering her own with the gloved hands.

 

“Are you crying?” A knife of guilt stabs him and he makes to apologize when the hands grabs his shoulder instead. 

 

Angela shows no tracks of tears; she looks more frustrated than anything. She shakes her head and removes the hand, pauses, then loosens the restraint on his limbs.

 

“I’m not.” A pause. A click when the last restraint falls. Jack tries to sit up immediately but a firm press to his stomach keeps him on his elbows. “You almost broke Lena’s nose.”

 

His eyebrows draw together. He remembers few things even now that the sedative is wearing off. Retrograde amnesia. Propofol?

 

“I don't remember.”

 

His stomach ties knots as he tries to, sees Lena. Bloodied. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t remember and it slowly sinks in that he actually hurt somebody. The pain in his palms is not nearly enough punishment and he wants to hit something. Himself.

 

“Jack” 

 

_ Jack.  _ Spoken with hate.

 

It’s his fault. Everything.

 

“Jack!” 

 

Small hands pry his own open and blue eyes peer at his own worried.

 

“Do you need a Lorazepam?” she asks with sincerity as she keeps his nails from digging into his own flesh by putting her soft skin between.

 

He shakes his head, loosens his grip a little. Tries to calm himself by breathing in and at count.

 

_ 1...2...3….4….5 _

 

_ Save me, please!!!  _ A shriek _. _

 

“I’m sorry.” He feels like crawling away and dying.

 

Sorry never fixed a broken plate.

 

“It’s okay, Jack.”

 

Sorry didn’t heal a broken nose.

 

_ Almost. _

 

“I think I am giving you Ativan anyway.”

 

Sorry didn’t raise the dead.

 

_ It’s your fault. _

 

The substance is in his vein a moment later since someone had bothered to insert a PVC. Transfixed on the liquid substance entering his body he hears the sniffle more than he sees any tears.

 

Again.

 

“I’m sorry”

 

He rests back on the stretcher. His elbows hurt and he is tired, so,so tired. The ceiling is white and uninteresting.

 

“I wish you would talk to me about your problems.”

 

Angela sits down next to him. He closes his eyes, sighs. His breathing slows. Nothing will happen.

 

“It’s not that,” he says and hates his words the moment they leave his lips.

 

“It’s about the war isn’t it?” Her voice is quiet, careful.

 

“Some of it.” He pauses. “I remembered today.”

 

There is silence between them. It stretches like a linen sheet and neither of them wishes to rustle the fabric. One of them has to.

 

“What did you remember?” 

 

Jack stills. Opens his eyes and grimaces.

 

“That I am a guilty motherfucker.”

  
  
  
  


Jack refuses to talk after that and Angela doesn't press. Her eyes however carry pity instead of disgust and Jack is not sure what to make of it. He falls asleep after a bit of listening to Angela typing away on her tablet, a soothing noise, and wakes up to voices.

 

“I’ve already explained the situation. I cannot promise a lack of hostility within the next few weeks . ” 

 

_ Dr. Winston,  _ Jack thinks and opens his eyes a creak.

 

“Of course. I just think that — ”   _ Angela. _

 

“Yes. I agree he needs the stability work provides. However.” The man coughs awkwardly. “He needs professional help, Angela. You of all people should know.”

 

Jack doesn’t want to hear this conversation. He does the only thing possible and sits up on the stretcher, catching the two off guard.

 

“Who needs what,” he growls and glares at the both of them. They look surprised to see him up. He wasn’t going to sleep forever was he?

 

Angela is in no way intimidated. “You.”  She crosses her arms. “need help.” Her expression softens and she sighs. “Jack, please.”

 

He thinks of Lena, of Angela and, albeit only for the flicker of a second, Gabe’s kids. He rakes his hand through his hair.

 

“Alright.”

 

Angela’s shoulders slack and Dr. Winston dares himself to draw closer, explains that Jack has to fear no repercussions as he will be seeking help. Which, for Jack, is enough punishment in itself.

 

It so happens that they set the first date after his shift tomorrow. Jack doesn’t have it in him to glare at them, the benzoate still in his system and the lack of sleep catching up with him.

 

His dreams smell of the desert that night.

  
  
  


“What brings you here?”

 

The man has the most soothing voice Jack has ever heard. Taken off guard by the discrepancy. The man is small and lean in appearance, while his voice carries, a deep melodious resonance with every spoken word, Jack needs a moment to adjust.

 

“Dr. Tekhartha,” he greets instead and eyes the man some more. 

 

Bronze skin, eyes so narrow they appear to be closed from a distance (but really, he likely smiles a lot.) and a shaved head. If Jack didn’t know any better he’d liken the man to a monk not a psychiatrist. Especially with the variety of pendants and bangles around his neck and hands, all wood carved.

 

The man smiles nonetheless and nods.

 

“Indeed. Welcome Dr. Morrison, I was informed of your need for assistance,” he says and he motions for some comfortable chairs in the middle of the room. Black leather with wooden brown feet, a small table with an incense burner and a candle atop. Unconsciously, he takes the seat closer to the door, realizing this only as his behind meets the soft cushion.

 

He looks at the Doctor whose expression has not changed. Jack’s shoulders relax and he leans back a little, surprised at the comfyness of the chair.

 

“Isn’t it nice how well used furniture serves us to be at ease quite more often than new.”

 

The surprise must have shown on his face as Dr. Tekhartha smiles and shrugs a little.

 

“I do not mind. Rather, I encourage my clients to make themselves at home.”

 

“Isn’t it patients?”

 

The question is out before Jack can reconsider. The smile falls a little and the doctor sighs. The pendants clinker as he leans forward and crosses his fingers.

 

“A common misconception I fear,” he says and pauses. “I think the word patient is an outdated concept. It is your choice to seek me out and your choice to leave whenever you wish to.”

 

Jack thinks of Angela and her request. The risk of losing his job and pulls a face.

 

“There must have been something to lead you here. Take this as an opportunity.”

 

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, takes in the cream colored walls with wooden carvings and several bonsai carefully aligned on a shelf.

 

“I’m a vet,” he starts, pauses, wriggles his fingers. He’d rather be anywhere else. A smoke would be good now. Though he rarely indulges these days, too many memories.

 

“Special OPs. Stuff I am not supposed to talk about.” 

 

They had been sworn to confidentiality but nowadays Jack couldn’t care less about military morals and codes. Not that a private therapy session fell under the betrayal of the state. Or so Jack hopes, he picks at a cuticle, waiting. There is no reaction from the psychologist and Jack takes that as a cue to go on.

 

“It followed me home.”

 

Dr. Tehkartha nods. Encourages him.

 

“You are not alone, Dr. Morrison. Perhaps, we could start at the beginning of your career? Your family?”

 

“No family,” he sneers. “Threw me out as soon as they heard I wasn't going to  pursue a farmer’s life.”

 

“Your relationship was bad?” 

 

“I wasn't what they wanted.” 

 

He remembers words thrown in anger and frustration, then ignorance before he finally told them.

 

_ Don't you dare come back, goddamn disgrace. _

 

“I wasn’t their American dream quarterback with the prettiest girl at prom. Haven't talked to them since turning eighteen.”

 

He fiddles with a piece of loose skin around his nail. The sharp pain gives him something to focus on other than the intense gaze of Dr. Tekhartha.

 

“They didn’t accept you.”

 

Jack looks up to smile wryly at the doctor. His gaze instantly falls as his eyes return to the bleeding lesion on his hand. He smears it with his thumb.

 

“Something like that.”

 

He does not want to think of the farm. The chicken coop and the endless corn fields to play hide and seek in. Not his mother baking apple pie and ruffling his straw blond hair when he came home all dirty as a kid or his father showing him how to drive a tractor. His little siblings-

 

“I joined the army after turning eighteen.”

 

An easier topic. Went to army did army stuff, got discharged a cripple. Simple.

 

Doctor Tekhartha hums, urging him to continue.

 

“I joined the army,” he repeats and shrugs. “And I was good at what I did, doing football payed off after all.”

 

There had been pats on his back for a job well done and Jack had been ever so proud. Acknowledgement of his skills and achievements was what he needed and what the military gave him.

 

“I was good at what I did and I did what I had to do. Moved up the ranks quickly.”

Dr. Tekhartha says nothing and Jack continues. “The offer for a newly formed unit came in a while after.” 

 

He shrugs again.

 

“I mean I’d already had some deployments in the east and saw what war did to people. I felt I could change something somehow.” He pauses and remembers signing the document. “But maybe we made it worse. Training for a bit and out of the frying pan, into the fire. The usual.”

 

Jack frowns bites his lip.

 

“Mission went wrong, wrecked my knee and you can imagine the rest.”

 

His nail digs into the wound but no blood emerges. Just like an old battle scar.

 

“Dr. Morrison, you told me about what happened in the past. What about you though? Why come to me now?”

 

Dr. Tekhartha isn’t smiling but his expression isn’t condescending either. Hands still folded in a calm manner. He reminds Jack of a statue, one of those Buddhas made of stone.

 

Jack doesn’t know how to reply. There is silence between the two as he tries to find his words. The other man doesn’t press nor urge him however, something Jack is grateful for. His hands leave each other and he rakes the left through his hair.

 

“I don’t sleep well,” he finally admits and his eyebrows draw together. “I keep having flashback, more these days, that I can’t ignore and I hurt a colleague.” He thinks of Angela’s sad expression, Lena’s bright smile and sighs. “My friends, I guess.”

 

The doctor closes his eyes for a moment, opens them slightly and smiles a bit. Every expression minimal but magnificent in its simplicity.

 

“The first step is conviction, Dr. Morrison. Do you wish to work towards improvement of your condition?”

 

Jack scoffs at the wording but does not comment on it. Neither does the doctor.

 

“I guess,” is all he says.

 

“I’ll need you to be honest with me then, Dr. Morrison. Are you willing to get better? There is no sense if you are not doing it for yourself.”

 

Jack shakes his head. Realizes he’s bouncing his leg. Stops.

 

“I can’t go around punching people because of an episode.”

  
Dr. Tekhartha smiles.“Humans cannot live with themselves in discord. I do hope we can clear yours up a bit”

  
  


~~~~~

  
  


The session with Dr. Tekhartha  still in mind, Jack makes his way outside for a smoke. The kiosk across the hospital is rather convenient. For smokers and alcoholics alike.

 

Early spring draws many people outside and Jack is hard pressed to find an unoccupied bench in the shadow of an old oak. The small park was built next to the hospital twenty years back when the last rustic ninety year old finally sold their house to the management. Houses were bulldozed and grass planted.

 

These days it was frequently littered with cigarette snubs or thugs who weren’t kept off ground by a simple sign that read “Only for visitors of the hospital.”

 

Jack leans back and sticks the cigarette between his lips. The smell is all too familiar. 

 

_ Why did I quit anyway?,  _ he thinks and inhales the smoke with practiced ease. There had been a bet going on in their squad, whoever lost had to do something the winner asked.

 

_ “I want Morrison to quit smoking.” _

 

_ “Don’t you dare, Reyes.” _

 

_ “Only what hurts the most, Cornboy.” _

 

He frowns while his fingers trace the wood of the bench. Old and weary, just like him. He lets his mind wander. Did he live in discord? Likely. But who didn’t have something to regret? Didn't mean they developed PTSD over it.

 

Jack does not consider himself weak. Yet, here he is, the one with the mental illness they used to make fun of in the military. One of the weenie hut members. His hands dig into the wood a little and he exhales the smoke in a stutter.

 

The crack in his shell widens the older he gets, like aged paint on a fence, and he just can't fix it. He snuffs the cigarette on the bench and drops it on the ground.

 

He inhales clean air before his calloused hands cover his face and he hunches forward.

The smell of the hospital issued hand lotion is strong and the rough skin of his hands scratches his cheeks. He exhales through his palms.

 

“You alright, Doc?”

 

Jack’s head snaps up, coming to face Jesse McCree. A moment passes in which neither of them utters a word, Jack blinking owlishly at the intruder.

 

Jesse cocks an inquiring eyebrow.

 

“Fine, just tired,” he says finally and shields his eyes from the sun.

 

“You sure look like it,” Jesse comments and flops himself down next to Jack who scoots a little close to the edge in response.

 

“Very charming,” Jack comments dryly and stuffs the cigarettes back into his pocket, lighter securely in the pack itself.

 

“Didn’t know you smoked, Doc. Not healthy at all.”

 

Jesse grins and wraggles his finger at him. The stump on his left is still without prosthetic, the jacket loosely covering the shoulder.

 

“Got one for me?”

 

Jack shakes his head.

 

“Your Dad’s gonna skew me alive.”

 

“Nah, he ain’t my Dad,” Jesse shrugs then laughs. “My uncle… or something.”

 

“Or something,” Jack repeats.

 

“Yep.” 

 

Jesse doesn’t elaborate; instead he scratches his head and leans back, his only arm thrown over the backrest. Jack fishes the cancer sticks out of his pocket again and throws them on the young man’s lap.

 

“So you and Gabe met, huh?”

 

This time Jack shrugs noncommittally and focuses on the taste of smoke on his tongue while Jesse lights his own. He wonders why Gabe hasn’t made him quit yet.

 

“You knew?” Jack finally asks. He crushes a fallen petal under his heel.

 

“Had a hunch. He had photos lying around. Now don't you judge me, wasn't like I was going through his stuff. S’ just…” 

 

Jesse stops cranes his neck. There is some unspoken secret thickening the air and his speech. Jack notices by the way the young man’s jaw tightens that it is an uncomfortable truth hidden somewhere.

 

He doesn’t press. 

 

“We all weren’t in a great place back then. I guess. Olivia, Sombra that, is doesn’t know anything either, so don’t bother.”

 

Jack hums but doesn’t comment. He had spent the better part of the first year out of service on vet funds and instant meals. While the latter hasn’t changed much he gets where Jesse is coming from and he does not plan on bothering a young girl about it either way.

 

“I thought at first I might have imagined or mistaken you, y’know?” The smoke coils around their heads before a gust of wind carries it into the distance.  “The licorice gave you away though.”

 

Jack must have made a face because Jesse snorts and bumps his knee.

 

“Gabe told me once, bout that stunt. Shoulda seen your face.”

 

He sighs and makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. The noise of a cornered dog protecting its kin, strange for a man his age. Stranger even considering who he is protecting. Jack wonders what it is about their relationship.

 

“I didn’t want you two to meet like that,” Jesse admits and halts when a pair of elder women pass by. His gaze follows them until they are out of sight and Jack waits. “Or at all. I don't know.”

 

The silent lamentation carries along with the sentence. Jack gets it; he himself cannot decide whether to loathe their reunion or rejoice for his second chance to right his wrongs. If he can ever. The memories are the downside of it all, if only he could lock them all in a wooden chest and throw them into the fire they belonged in.

 

“I thought he was dead.” Is all Jack can muster before he knows he will be in for another trip to the past he can’t afford. Lock it up, cancel the voyage.

 

“He thought the same though. Dunno what you did in the army cuz it must've been hella confidential ‘n all.”

 

“Stop.” Jack grits out and looks anywhere but at Jesse. The past breathes down his neck and he has the urge to take and strangle an intangible monster.

 

“Sorry, doc.”

 

The apology trickles through slowly and when Jack his head left Jesse is already focused on blowing smoke circles. A futile effort as the wind is too strong for them to remain longer than a second.

 

“Why ask? It's none of your business.” 

 

A moment as good as any to ask. Jesse responds with coughing violently, smoke rings forgotten and cigarette stub fallen on the ground.

 

“‘’S complicated,” he says but there is a rough edge to his voice and a slight tremble of his lip as he picks the cigarette back up. “But technically you’re right. It IS none of my business.”

 

Jack observes the other man and notes on the sagged shoulders and the thick line between the bushy brows.

 

“So why?” He can’t help but ask and is surprised at the half grimace half smile that appears on Jesse’s face when he does.

 

“I owe him big time, more of a kiss ‘n fist thing though.” There is something hardening in the young man’s features then he sighs and rakes through his hair. “Liv’s ‘n’ my mom died shortly after he was discharged, her cousin or some shit. We were told but I didn’t really care at that point.”

 

He sighs and glances at Jack.

 

“Guess how many people want to take in a sixteen and eleven year old? Nada.” Jesse smiles grimly and shrugs as if he was telling Jack  _ That’s life. Shitty. _

 

Jack’s lips form a thin line but he doesn't comment. Instead he shakes his head and listens.

 

“Imagine a big ass musclehead claiming to be your new guardian. Ripping you out of your city and then proceeding to do less than care about you ‘n your sis.”

 

Jack raises an eyebrow, opens his mouth but Jesse shushes him with a raise of his hand.

 

“He had enough to deal with already. Add two puberty ridden teens to the mix ‘n chaos is complete.”

 

Jack frowns but can't find it in himself to leave. Listening was something that came with the job description. For most of them at least. A scarred woman with red hair flashes briefly behind his eyes

 

“I went down the wrong path somewhere, meddled with the wrong crowd, got into trouble.”

 

Jesse exhales and leans back while he chuckles in remembrance.

 

“Guess that's when he pulled himself together, stopped coming home late reeking of booze, now don't look at me like that, told you he was no good.”

 

Jack still feels an ill thing settle in his stomach and he turns away.

 

“Thing is: he pulled himself together. All prim proper, took care of me ‘n Liv getting fed and to school ‘n everything.” Jesse looks Jack dead in the eye. “So yeah, I kinda owe him. Not for the shit before but everything after.”

 

“What has it got to do with me though?” Jack asks. 

 

The look he gets in return remind him of pity and he doesn't like the wrench in his gut at that realization. Jesse stays silent for a moment, then looks away as if embarrassed.

 

“You two are more similar than you think.”

 

Jack whips around to glare at Jesse who raises his arm.

 

“Don’t.”, He spits out and forces his hands to stay down on his lap with tremendous effort.

 

“Chill. I’m just sayin’ you two could use a good ol’ heart to heart, before ya up ‘n kill me to feed my heart to the vultures. That's what yer gaze tells me ya wanna do.” 

 

Jack laughs then. A hollow and bitter sound without mirth. “He made it pretty clear we aren't on speaking terms, Jesse.”

 

Jesse hums and Jack realizes he is discussing these things with a boy twenty years his junior.  When had he ever spoken about this with anyone? Never, but today and after what happened… now seemed as good as any time.

 

“Think he was just shocked.” 

 

Jack feels the bile rise when Gabriel’s furious face pops into his mind and he shakes his head.

 

“Think he was right,” he mutters, more to himself and continues before Jesse can respond. “This is between me and him Jesse and I know you're a good kid and all but please don’t.”

 

He rises, too fast, and yelps when white searing pain shoots from his knee up to his back. The sound of his knee dislocating with a loud pop. The joint forsakes him and bends to the side as he barely manages to return his ass to the bench. The kneecap returns with an audible sound, like opening a jar of sour cucumbers. Jack pulls a face and hisses at the residual pain.

 

“And that would have been way more dramatic if not for your busted knee,” Jesse comments and Jack glares at him.  But he stops when he notices the young man looking a little green. Jesse sighs and scratches his beard, the doe brown eyes gleaming with sincerity when he adds. “Just… try to hear him out if he comes to ya, will ya? ‘S not too much to ask for.”

 

Jack closes his eyes, the pain in his knee still a dull ache. He isn’t even sure himself if he wants to talk to Gabriel, or if he can without the smoke, fire and screams. A clasp buries itself around his lungs and he breathes deeply to shake it off.

 

“It is really none of your business,” he says, the second attempt at leaving the bench more successful than the first. 

 

“Might be,” Jesse drawls and his mouth pulls into a sad smile. “But I'm ready to make it mine if it means Gabe’s wellbeing.” 

 

There is a cold determination in Jesse’s eyes. Like a lion protecting its cub only the wrong way around, cub protecting the lion and Jack would have found it comical in any other situation.Instead, this just tires him out. 

 

He rubs his neck and before limping back to the hospital he says: “Make no promises you can’t keep.”

 

The ache in his knee continues to carry on on well into the next day, a foreboding of a storm he was sure was to hail down on him soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HC that the one Jack lies most too is himself o.o
> 
> Also look at this beautiful art and the colors!!!!! it's perfect.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again special thanks to EdgeLady. oh god I'm tired.

 

As with any prediction the storm brews a week later. The daily meetings with Dr. Tekhartha wear Jack out more than he expected and as an effect of the agreement he ends up with less overtime. The sessions being strictly scheduled after his shifts, courtesy of Dr. Winston, keep him from staying longer than planned.

 

A fact that Angela had happily pointed out one the morning. Jack had been well tempted to throw his favorite mug at her, held back only by the prospect of wasting a perfectly fine cup.

 

All in all, except for a small pillbox of ADs and being forced to abide to the shift schedule not much has changed for him and Jack is secretly glad to have no contact with the IMC after that incident. Dr. Adawe had been more than understanding and a substitute had been found after some haggling. Still, dissatisfaction curled in his stomach at his personal problems hindering others.

 

He brushes against the stubble that has taken hold of his jaw, nothing that could be called a beard, still enough to itch a litte. He could never grow anything more than a patchy excuse in the past. That didn’t seem to have changed as he inspects his reflection on the computer monitor.

 

“There is something called a razor, you know?” a voice behind him says. 

 

He turns on his swivel chair to face Sombra who is leaning on the counter casually. She looks different, is the first impression that comes to his mind. Second is the  _ ‘how.’  _

 

“Cut your hair?” he asks. 

 

She shrugs and makes a motion to push the too short locks behind her ear.

 

“Looks good,” he offers as that's what most people like to hear. 

 

Sombra however rolls her eyes and pulls some lacquer off her nail, flicks it at him.

 

“I am contemplating,” she notes, his comment disregarded and shadows crossing her features when Jack raises his eyebrows.

 

“Do I want to know?” Jack asks as he files through the records of a recently deceased patient. Their computers being slow as they are makes it more of a journey than anything.

 

“Still thinking.”

 

Jack nods and returns to his work, seeing no sense in questioning her further. The gaze on his head unnerves him however and a few minutes later he opens his mouth, ready to snap and Sombra sees that as her cue to ask.

 

“Your limp’s worse these days.” She taps her nails on the counter, a rhythmic clicking that reminds Jack of a popular song. “Why?” she adds after a moment. 

 

Jack balks; his brows draw a line. “You don’t mince matters, do you?”

 

“What can I say?” She smirks and flicks another piece of laquer on the counter. Blows it down with little effort.

 

Jack sighs, rubs his eyes and looks at the girl who looks back expectantly. Dr. Tekhartha told him to open up, didn’t he?

 

“Bombshell got lodged in there, gets worse if I overexert it.”

 

Understanding flashes in Sombra's eyes before she tilts her head.

 

“Operation?”

 

Jack shakes his head and smiles grimly. “Went ahead and married my bone, close to marrow so no chance. They were more preoccupied with my lungs not giving up than my knee anyway.”

 

Sombra’s eyes shoot up and Jack immediately regrets the additional information. He avoids looking at the girl’s face when the next question bites like a gut shot.

 

“What happened?”

 

There is a childlike wonder to her voice and Jack can't fault her, he really can’t, but neither does he feel comfortable answering.

 

_ You kept everything bottled up for a long time, haven't you, Dr. Morrison? _

 

He opens his mouth stills, pauses, collects himself.

 

“Acute respiratory failure.” he says, trying hard to sound indifferent as he raises the empty mug to his mouth, a pretense. “Smoke inhalation. Don’t remember much.” 

 

Her next question is a heavy blow against the beehive that is his mind. The hum is loud and static as he automatically answers.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

She mouths something, same question and Jack shakes his head, frowns.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

_ The lights are too bright, someone is holding his eyelids up, speaking. Jack reaches out to slap her away only his hands are bound. He wriggles, tries to scream, but there is something on his throat, he coughs and tries to press the foreign object out and he is not getting enough air. _

 

_ A warm hand on his shoulder, words mumbled into his ear as he is choking and why is nobody helping him? _

 

The voice of Sombra breaks through.  _ Same question?  _ And Jack slams his hand flat on the table and shouts. “I don’t know!” 

 

That garners some attention on the hallway. Heads turn their way and Jack immediately feels the strain on his throat made by the unfamiliar volume. He looks up and finds Sombra has retracted from the counter, she is holding her hands up in defense and Jack knows that motion.

  
_ Don’t shoot me, please! _

 

He gasps in a lungful of air, unable to calm her down.  _ Calm down, calm down. _

 

“Enough!”

 

Another voice and a hand on his shoulder. Instinct conquers rationality and he slaps the hand away with a forceful motion. A yelp and the person apologizes. His clenches his fists, ready to strike but the soft shushing stops him, though nobody tries to touch him again.

 

“Jack, luv. Take some deep breaths, yes, very good. One, two, three…. Yes like that.”

 

_ One, two, three…. _

 

Jack closes his eyes, continues the breathing exercise as the voice,  _ it’s Lena _ , tells him. It helps, the buzzing reduced to a faint noise in the background and he opens his eyes to the friendly brown of Lena’s mop of hair.

 

“Better?”

 

“Better,” he rasps. 

 

Lena shakes her head. “Well now that won't do!”, she says and tugs on his sleeve. 

 

Jack can make out a faint blue around the nose and turns his head away. Guilt pricks at his insides.

 

“Come on! I know just the thing.” 

 

She tugs again and Jack finally gets up, body like lead as he follows behind the young nurse. Half a minute later Lena guides him down on the sofa in the break room and takes his promise to not disappear while she’s  _ only gone for a second! _

 

“The best thing to have in these situations is a nice cup o’ tea.”

 

Lena balances two steaming cups with her right hand. Jack picks one with a grateful nod and stares down at the liquid of amber color.

 

“Rooibos tea, they had no peppermint, I’m afraid.”

 

The couch dips beside him as he inhales the herbal scent and a hint of vanilla.

 

“Thank you.” he mumbles.

 

“I used to work at psych,” Lena starts. 

 

Jack stares at his fingers clenching the cup.

 

“And while I loved the work Em was always always worried when I told her about our more aggressive patients.” She pauses and her voice turns solemn. “There is no reason to stare at me like that. I understand you didn’t wish to hurt me.” 

 

Her small hand touches his shoulder and he turns back to face her. She smiles brightly and brings the mug to her lips.

 

“I think Em’s not gonna want you over for thanksgiving though. Sorry for that.”

 

Jack’s lips pull into a wry grin and he shrugs. “Figures. For all it matters I'm sorry still.“

 

“Apology accepted,” she replies and rockets herself off the couch. The mug spills a bit and she shrugs. “You feeling’ better now?”

 

Jack nods and she gives him the thumbs up with her free hand. He can’t help but pull his lips upward a fraction.

 

“Glad to hear it.” She blows the bang out of her eyes and cocks her hip, assessing gaze fixed on him. Apparently she is satisfied as she proclaims: “I got to return now. You go and drink your cup, take a break. Come back whenever, I’ll tell the others.”

 

It is said at such an amazing speed that Jack barely has time to respond with a nod before she is out the room.

 

The break room seems much more barren once the lively nurse has left. The table to his far left is cluttered with magazines and a half empty glass of juice. If he inhales above the scent of tea, cigarette smoke lingers. Forbidden, yet practiced on busy nights. He can hear the noise of feet on the floor, voices, prescriptions being uttered. It grounds him a little and he tries to concentrate on his breathing.   
  


The tea has cooled considerably by the time he feels ready and he brings the beverage to his lips, frowns as his tongue meets the bland taste. There is a reason he is a coffee drinker after all.

 

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the wheelchair until it is literally pushed before his feet. His head jerks up and he freezes. It’s Gabe.

 

“Didn’t know you drank tea.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

No further words follow. Jack massages his temples and let's the waves of remembrance pass by. One attack was enough for a day, not that he could exactly stop it if it choose to fuck with his brain.  _ Locus of control, Jack _ ,  _ you are in control. _

 

“What do you want,” is all he says. His voice foreign and gravelly on his throat. He is tired and every following argument, he assumes, will only serve to further his exhaustion. His festering wounds are too fresh, the scar tissue barely formed as he keeps ripping the skin open again and again.

 

“Sombra asked me to.”

 

Jack raises an eyebrow, he avoids the direct eye contact for fear of losing to those dark eyes. The mug a perfect barrier between them.

“Gave her quite the surprise. That's a feat concerning ...how she is.”

 

Jack furrows his brow, frustration bubbling in his throat and he growls. “How is this your problem.”

 

_ Why?  _ He peers at Gabriel whose expression has softened somewhat since the last time they spoke, the lines less prominent. The dark circles remain, just like Jack’s.

 

“Jack,” Gabriel murmurs and move to rub his neck. The bandages holding the graft in place hinder the movement.

 

“I’m...” He stops and those eyes look the same as they always did and Jack’s breath hitches. “...sorry.... I’m sorry, Jack.”

 

His mouth runs dry and he freezes. Like a deer caught in headlights he stares as Gabriel fidgets in his wheelchair, clearly as uncomfortable as him.

 

“Why?” he all but whispers, his grip on the cup loosened.

 

“I was shocked, you lived and that — ” Gabriel stops and pulls at his hospital gown. He sighs, exasperated while Jack clenches his eyes shut for a second. “I was envious Jack.”

 

_ Why. _

 

_ “ _ Do you even know…” He stops and clenches the armrest as Jack does the same.  _ I know I'm at fault. _

 

“I saw you, in your white scrubs… stable job stable income.” Gabriel chuckles darkly. “Why you? It was always you. I’m….” He buries his forehead into his hand and scowls.

 

“You…” Jack says and his voice cracks.

 

“You got the position I applied for and… fuck.” 

 

The sound of plastic breaks the silence as Gabriel slams his foot down on the footrest of the wheelchair. It breaks off easily. Jack flinches  and moves to pick up the scattered material but ends up dropping his cup, spilling his tea. The knot in his throat unwinds and a sob breaks out as he buries his head in his hands and leans on his knees.

 

“I knew, I know. I’m so so sorry.” And even if sorry doesn’t fix a broken plate it feels good to get it off his chest, finally say it to whom he’d been saying it in his dreams all this time.

 

“Oh god Jack, don’t I know.” Warmth descends on his shoulder, hesitant in its approach as if trying to catch a fluttering bird. Met with no resistance it settles a second later and Jack lets out a shuddering breath, barely able to keep an outcry in.

  
“Jack,” Gabriel says tentatively. Jack fails respond. “Jack. Look at me, please.”

 

Jack shakes his head and digs his palms into his eyes. A futile attempt to keep the tears threatening to spill at bay. Another silent sob, a sound of a drowning man and Gabriel starts rubbing circles on his back.

 

_ I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry. _

 

He doesn’t realize he’s been muttering under his breath until the hushing meets his ears.

 

“It's okay, it’s okay. I‘m sorry too. I didn't realize. I’ve been dumb”

 

The sobs are burning up his throat now. It’s raw, it hurts and Jack is unable to stop the tide crashing down on his small island. Gabriel keeps on rubbing the circles, muttering reassurances until the flood finally ebbs and Jack feels like he can breathe again. His nose is stuffy, throat raw and his eyes feel swollen but he actually feels a little better than before.

 

He lifts his head up and the warmth on his back disappears. Jack opens his mouth to apologize but stops when he spots the wet trails on Gabriel’s cheeks.

 

“Gabe,” he says and the old nickname is honey and poison both. He tilts forward and is once again, a young man, aspiring medic and best friend to one amazing Gabriel Reyes.

His hand reaches out for a second, then pulls away. It has been too long for them.

 

“Jack.” Gabriel looks down on his hands. 

 

Jack stills.

 

“I stand by what I said back then. You were not fit to be the commander.”

 

Jack frowns posture stiffening and he is about to retort when Gabriel raises the uninjured arm defensively.

 

“It did something to you and you were always too good, trying to please everyone.” Gabriel grimaces and Jack believes the man bites his inner lip for a second. A strange pull in that scarred face.

 

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Jack whispers and he barely recognizes the husk of his voice.

 

“Don’t I know,” Gabriel says and sighs, runs his hand through the grown out, greasy locks that Jack used to admire so long ago. Thick and wavy and yet soft to the touch in those rare instances Gabriel let him comb through his hair. Usually a close escape from death or being shot.

 

“I don’t think I want to talk about this,” Jack hears himself say and is equally surprised by the quiver in his words. His heart thumps in his chest like a mockingbird and he would like to cough up the damn thing of to get rid of the nausea in his gut.

 

“Okay,” Gabriel replies. It is so not-Gabriel that Jack’s face goes slack and he just stares. “Jack.” 

 

Once upon a time he would have given everything to hear his name said like that by those very lips. Today, it throws him in turmoil.

 

“Why?!” he asks and again. “Why now?!”

 

“I thought you were fucking dead! Like Rob and Ella and everyone else!” 

 

Jack snaps his jaw shut.

 

“I sat there, in my cell every day and kept thinking you might have managed to get away and when I got out the fuckers kept telling me confidential which is another word for, I’m sorry Sir we cannot tell you they died but we’ll heavily imply it,” Gabriel gasps, pants and glares at the broken mug. “I thought:  _ Why me _ ?” Fresh tears run down the man's cheeks, caught in the scars and the beard and Jack feels wetness on his own once more.

 

“Why me,” Jack repeats and brown eyes fix on his own.

 

“You’re the same. You're the fucking same with guilt playing the snake of Midgard and you know what?” There is a heavy pause in which the only sound is that of their breaths until Gabriel breaks it with those words that hit the dam with the strength of a pile driver. “I’m glad I'm not alone.”

 

“Gabe.” Jack makes his decision. He rises, drawing confusion onto Gabriel’s face, a slight furrow of his brow, a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth. All sign of a pending question Jack knew too well.

 

The next moment has his arms around Gabriel’s back and him trying not to dig his shoulder into the other man’s throat. Beside that Jack is horribly embarrassed, scared, and his face flushed a deep pink. He notices the erratic heartbeat against his bicep and sighs. Gabriel’s arm reaches for his hip and settles just above it. Lightly. his good knee slightly bends, carries his weight.

 

“You were right,” he says. “I shouldn't have taken command… I...” He swallows the lump forming around his trachea. “Everyone died and it was my fault.”

 

Gabriel pushes him away, looks him dead in the eye (Gabe’s eyes,red-rimmed) and shakes his head. “You did not kill them. The terrorists did.”

 

“I sent them into their death. It was my call.”

 

Gabriel puckers his lips then grabs his shoulder.

 

“The first thing I thought was:  _ this is all Jack’s fault  _ and before you wallow in self pity, don’t you dare, I had a lot of time to think. Why didn’t I duck at the right moment? Why didn’t I pull Rob back who was shredded to bits right beside me?”

 

Jack shakes his head and sits back down, the afterburn on his shoulder prominent after the source of heat has gone.

 

“I had command, Gabe. Rob? I killed him and everyone else. I basically pulled the trigger on them.”

 

“I won’t lie, I blamed you, Jack. I used to. I did until…” Gabriel drags his hand along his cheek. There are a lot new lines there, Jack notes and thinks grimly that he is not one to talk.

“I went too far.”

 

_ You were right though,  _ Jack thinks and his gaze wanders to the blackboard where photos and postcards tell of his colleagues’ endeavors.

 

_ Do I even deserve this? _

 

“One can’t dance on two weddings at once and yet you always tried. I think, no, I know, that's why they, no, we looked up to you.”

 

Jack keens at the back of his throat, a low pathetic wail as his heart attempts to choke itself. He gasps and claws at his white pant leg until a darker hand presses down on his own, gently coaxing him to let go.

 

Jack opens his mouth but Gabriel hushes him.

 

“Jack. I am tired of this, of the past.”

 

“I’d change it if I could,” Jack croaks secretly wishing the hand to stay and comfort him. A selfish thought. He regrets it immediately.

 

“I know you would.” There is a new thickness to the other man’s voice as he grabs Jack’s hand within his own. “As I said, I was angry. I blamed you cause I thought you were alive…” 

Gabriel stops and the pressure on his hand increases. “When I heard you were dead, well confidential, I…”  A sardonic smile appears on his lips and falls a second after.

 

“I bawled like a kid. All my friends dead. My best friend dead. And the last thing I told him was spoken in anger.”

 

_ Fuck you, Jack Morrison. _

 

Jack face goes slack. 

 

“I didn't realize I had it until it was gone, you know? And poof it went up in flames, quite literally.”

 

A sound emerges from Gabriel’s throat, a choked sob but Jack can’t respond. He is stiff, there is a snake curling around him, keeping him still as he stares at Gabriel and through him. It is not uncomfortable, yet strange as if he wasn’t in his own body.

 

“I don’t get it.” Jack hears himself say. “Why aren’t you mad?”

 

“I told you I was, I am. Sometimes. I was angry at your stubbornness and your fucking desire to follow every order to the letter.” Gabriel chuckles a little, a dry and uncomfortable sound. “Most of all I was furious how you all went ahead and got yourselves killed. I couldn’t believe it at first but with no contact from anyone….” Gabe shrugs and leans back, a grimace of pain on his face.

 

“I was stuck in the hospital for half a year,” Jack says and furrows his brows. 

 

Gabriel looks away, an expression akin to guilt showing on his face. It had never been his fault though and Jack continues.

 

“I was told you were killed in duty. All of you.” Before Gabriel interrupt he holds up his hand and shakes his head. “Don’t know why they told you confidential, really. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

 

“I guess not,” Gabriel mutters and rolls his shoulder.

 

Jack takes a deep portion of air and smiles. “Thank you for coming to talk though, I appreciate it.”

 

Gabriel scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You don’t mean that. You’ve been sweating bullets for the past half an hours and you keep on picking on your nails.” He sighs and runs a hand through his locks once more. “Jack. I told you I was envious but I start thinking that I am at least lucky to have the kids.” 

 

The last words seem so full of pity it makes Jack want to retch. 

 

“I don’t need your compassion, Gabe,” he says and the other man’s face falls slightly. Like getting on the wrong end of a prank.

 

“Goddamnit, Jack.” Frustration. A feeling that seems to appear every time they try to talk it out, in the past and now. 

 

_ What am I doing wrong? _

 

“This is too much at once, Gabriel. I — ” he grabs for Gabriels hand and squeezes it. “I was shocked when they brought you both in. I was confused, panicked but also elated? Because damn Gabe if you weren’t my best friend once.” He sniffles and rubs the wetness away angrily. A motion that doesn't escape Gabriel as his expression softens and he gently squeezes back. “And I want the old times back. The good ones where we didn’t argue every time we as much as saw each other. When we could laugh together.”

 

He draws a deep breath. Stays silent until the warm hand leaves his own to cup his face. There is something unreadable in Gabriel’s expression who draws his brows together and lets go a moment later. The jaw where Jack was touched feels warmer than the rest of his body and he almost reaches to touch it himself.

 

“You never forgave yourself, did you?” Gabriel states and smiles grimly. “Just as I never forgave myself for letting you run in there head first.”

 

“It wasn't your fault,” Jack mumbles but Gabriel shakes his head.

 

“We both were. In a way.” His gaze clouds for a moment, a state Jack can relate to much too well. Silence lingers, neither of them moving to break it by word or action. The sound of an empty bed echo through from the hallway. Nobody comes in.

 

“So....Jack,” Gabriel asks and his tone shifts from commandeering to soft and if Jack hadn’t looked at that moment, he would have missed the faint flush on Gabriel’s cheeks and the awkward scratching of his beard. “Phone.” 

 

Jack stares at him blankly for a moment and another until an intelligent sounding “What?” blurts out.

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes and grabs something next to his leg. A black shiny phone in his hand he asks again.“Your phone number, Jack.”

 

Jack blinks and takes the phone out of his pocket, heart hammering so strong he thinks Gabriel might hear. He can’t explain his nerves and feigns obliviousness as Gabriel taps in his numbers and throws the device back on his lap.

 

“Just… message me or something if you remember anything else,” Gabriel says and loosens the brake on the wheelchair. He turns in a fluid motion and doesn’t see the blank look on Jack’s face.

 

“Yes, of course,” he replies and stares dumbly at Gabriel’s retreating back and then at the mug on the ground. Among the shards he can make out:

 

_ Don’t worry, be happy. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One short chapter before the final one. 
> 
> Special thanks to EdgeLady ( otherwise the english would be all kinds of wrong, I swear.)

 

The next two days are spent in a hazy daze for Jack. He goes to work yet his thoughts keep springing back to the encounter with Gabriel.

 

While probably more than harmful for his sleep, the nightmares were now paired with racing thoughts about his former friend. What were they now? Acquaintances? 

 

Still, he has failed to make sense of the situation so far and neither Sombra — whom he intends to apologize to — or Jesse have shown themselves.

 

“Doctor Morrison, there is a patient in room five who claims to have overdosed,” Nurse Orisa drones. She sighs as she takes a sip from a colorful water bottle.

 

“Claims?” Jack says. He barely looks up from the peripheral line he is currently trying to get in an dehydrated old lady’s arm. Good thing she is asleep from the pain meds.

 

“Well, they had a bottle of Omeprazole on them. Don’t ask me. Vitals are okay, said he took 80 mg instead of 40.” She holds her hands up in defense as Jack groans and misses the vein, again.

 

The arm is already darkened and Jack sighs as he applies pressure to his latest failure.

 

“Can you ask the new one….” Jack tries to remember the name but fails. “The girl with glasses to take care of that?”

 

The nurse nods and grins. “Need the sonography as well?”

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

The rest of the day passes in a similar  manner and Jack finds himself growing more anxious with every passing hour for no particular reason. Like the calm before the storm, a blanket covers him, and it dulls everything but his own thoughts.

  
  
  


He doesn’t have a session with Dr. Tekhartha until the day after tomorrow and thus he ends up staying later. Perfect timing for Angela to catch him as he assesses a slight bump on a child’s head.

 

“Let me guess, commotio cerebri,” she asks, the triage area as full as ever.

 

Jack inspects the bump, the defiant look on the face of the child and the concerned mother.

 

“More like a mild case of ‘I don’t want to go to school so I bash my head against the table,’” he says to the mother “He will be fine as long as no symptoms like nausea or vomiting occur.”

 

The mother shoots a glare at her son but seems relieved nonetheless. The son much less so as he stares down his feet in disappointment.

 

As the mother son pair leaves Angela sighs audibly and moves next to him. “It’s twenty twenty five, Jack.”

 

Jack hums as he closes the file on the tablet.

 

“Your shift ended one hour ago,” she continues and gently pries the electronic device from his hands. He scowls but she just gives his shoulder a soft pat and smiles.

 

“Get ready now and we ‘ll meet up at the entrance, Genji is cooking and you do not want to miss that.”

 

Jack groans and swipes the screen locked. He is not too keen on interaction right now and as much as he appreciates Angela, her meddling can be tiresome. The retribution for not turning up entails various calls and stern gazes however, and Jack doesn’t wish to deal with that today. Half an hour later finds Jack in a ratty, yet comfortable Polo-shirt, faded jeans and an expression of displeasure at the entrance where Angela waits with a scowl to equal his own.

 

“ _ Now _ is a very broad term I see.” 

 

Jack scratches his neck and scoffs.

 

“Well, yes, Miss Adams, you’ve been puking blood for the last three hours but my shift’s over so can you please wait another till my colleague will attend to you?”

 

The sarcasm drips like poison after which Angela’s expression softens somewhat. Her arms remain crossed over her chest however.

 

“I am just worried, Jack.” 

 

“I can take care of myself.” Then: “ I am not gonna drop dead, don’t worry.”

 

They start walking towards the parking lot without another word but she keeps sneaking suspicious glances at him. It is unnerving.

 

“What?” he asks and she sighs.

 

“I think Dr. Tehkartha is helping, just…” 

 

Her lips turn downward, the blue eyes dark in the night.

 

“Lena talked to me. About two days ago.” She quickly raises her hands in defense as if expecting a shouting match Jack is not sure he would be able to engage in today. “And I thought about it. Why are you never talking to me. Why is it only ever me coming to YOU with my problems? And why is it only ever other people informing me.” She laughs, hollow and false as she wipes her eyes. A little of her Makeup smears and the black line below her eye adds to the wrinkles.    
  
“It wasn’t that important,” he mumbles, deflects. He opens the door to the small blue Fiat owned by the doctor. A hole opening up and swallowing him this moment would be very convenient, he thinks as he starts the usual routine to get into the too small front seat without breaking his neck.   
  
“I don’t care,” Angela flops on the driver’s seat and stares him down. “I know there are things you don’t talk about in a weird sense of masculinity or some shit — don’t interrupt me.”    
  
Jack draws his eyebrows together and sighs. “Angela — ”    
  
“Don’t you dare ‘Angela’ me, Jack.” The pale glow of the light outside barely illuminates her face. She is nibbling on her lip, a bad habit she has been trying to let go of. Seems it has not worked yet. 

 

Jack sighs and leans back a little, the headrest digging into his neck.    
  
“Everytime I ask, all I get is ‘fine’ ‘okay’ and you are a terrible liar. Despite what you think.” She adds the last part with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile that fades a little when Jack huffs and turns to the window.   
  
“It all started with that patient appearing, I’m not stupid.” The key still hasn’t found direct contact with the car. “And you are eccentric, yes but not like that.”    
  
Jack closes his eyes despite knowing the situation will not just have disappeared once he opens them. A kid’s trick that never worked yet his brain makes it seem like a good idea. Pretend you’re not there and you’re not.He opens them and they are still in the car.   
  
“I am a murderer,” he says and is astonished by the calm with in which he admits the fact. It had always seemed too difficult in the past, speaking of his sin like this. Not that he had ever imagined the confession being made in Angela’s small car in the dark. He just hopes no security will come by and ask what they are doing. 

 

It does not seem to be of worry to Angela. She waits patiently for him to continue. Jack is reminded of his mother a little and his face scrunches up

 

The river overflows and breaks the rotten dams he’s let deteriorate. Jack does not know whether the sessions with Dr. Tekhartha opened him up, making him about himself. He does talk however and it compares to a thin prick of ice melting in his upper abdomen.   
  


And for the first time, he tells someone; he tells Angela. About the war, the explosion. His lack of judgement and other failures that kept on piling up.    
  
He has to pause a few times to catch himself, his breath hitches and he bites his cheek to continue. Pauses again.   
  
And Angela listens, hums in acknowledgement at the right points, asks for clarification at others as the river breaks loose within him. Taking all that is within its path and pouring out on the land, disrooting trees and carrying away the mud of years of denial.

  
When he tries to talk about the moment of the explosion, he stops. The flow of his words that had just been pouring out by themselves coming to a halt. A haunted expression forms on his face, pained, regretful and the guilt burns deep. His knee aches.   
  
“I thought I killed him. I got them all killed.” He croaks and hides his eyes behind his hands, fingers crossed. “But turns out I left him and I don’t know which is worse.”

 

He presses the palm onto his eyes and feels the wetness there. He curses, voice a mixture of congested and hoarse. A warm hand softly touches his shoulder and when he doesn’t recoil, rubs circles on his back. Angela.   
  
They stay silent for a long time or it could have been minutes. Jack doesn’t know. His breathing seems abnormally loud in the small space. He removes the palms from his eyes and a free drops run down his face as he sniffles and tries to keep in at least one body fluid.    
  


A tissue is held in front of his face and Jack mumbles a thanks. A deep breath fills his lungs, throat still thick and he looks at Angela whose face carries a great amount of pity.   
  
“And that patient?” she asks. He want the lines on her forehead to disappear. She doesn’t deserve this kind of friend.   
  
“Is the Gabriel from my unit,” he says and shrugs. “Funny how the world works, isn’t it?” A humorless laugh.   
  
“And he was in the explosion as well?” she asks.   
  
Jack’s lips form a thin line as he nods.   
  
“Yes, he was the one who kept saying it was a trap.” He rubs his temple and another drop trails down his cheeks. “I don’t remember much really. They mall was rigged with explosives and when we went to extract the journalists kept in the basement, they all went off.”    
  
His eyes unfocus as he remembers the long stretch of typical seventies architecture, metal and cement, three floors, civilians milling about. He pinches the skin above his knee, hard. No use delving down there.    
  
“I jumped from the first floor I think because the fire was blocking me, the roof must have caved then because something hit my head and I blacked out.”   
  
Pain is written across Angela’s face, for him. Jack has the guilt gnaw on his insides as he tries to recall. Like a curtain lifting on a third rate theatre, colors smudged and dust, dust everywhere.   
  
“I was buried under rubble, they told me it was about eighteen hours, I was in and out of it all the while. Then hospital and you know the usual ICU stuff.”    
  
Angela’s breath hitches and Jack tries to smile at her, calm her a bit, tell her it is nothing.

 

_ It isn’t nothingI  _

 

He manages a grimace of a frown and half smile, not convincing at all. She draws a sharp breath and grasps  for his hand. Hers is damp and cold yet he can’t pull back.

 

“I never knew, Jack,” she says and rubs her earlobe. “I had a hunch all the years that the military — ”   
  
“You don’t have to say it,” Jack interrupts and she closes her mouth, looking ashamed. Why? The dim light makes it difficult to make out more as she turns her head to the steering wheel. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”  _ It’s bad enough that I am dragging everyone down. _   
  
“I’m not going to pry,” Angela says, seeing the end of the conversation. “But I am here and I want to help you. Please... don’t shut me out.”   
  
“I’ll try not to,” he concedes. He leans his temple against the cool glass window of the car. He avoids eye contact as well as a proper answer, a promise he’ll be unlikely to keep.

  
Angela sighs and starts the motor which comes alive with sputtering and several exhaust coughs.    
  
The embarrassment of worrying his friend burns in his heart and he excuses him early from the dinner with his friends. That night it is not Adams being crushed by falling debris but Genji while Angela screams at him from behind, her voice a shrill screeching that claws into his ears long after he awakes, sweating and panting.   
  
When he leaves for work that morning the stains left by a broken coffee mug have yet to disappear.He’ll clean up later. Always later.   



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. thank you for stayin with me through this!

  
  
_R.Eaper wrote at 15:00_ _  
_ _Have you seen Liv?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Soldier76 wrote at 18:00_ _  
_ _Who’s this?_ _  
_ _  
_ Jack has a suspicion. He still asks, to be sure and frown at the time the first message had been written.   
  
_R.Eaper wrote at 18:01_ _  
_ _Reyes here. Liv’s Sombra btw._ _  
_ _  
_ _Soldier76 wrote at 19:43_ _  
_ _No._ _  
_ _  
_ _R.Eaper wrote at 20:00_ _  
_ _What no? (And that answer took two hours?)_ _  
_ _  
_ _Soldier76 wrote at 21:02_ _  
_ _one hour and forty-one minutes, Reyes. Some of us work. And no, I do not know where Sombra is. Why would I?_ _  
_ _  
_ Jack looks around. The changing room is empty, he puts the phone down and pulls his scrubs off, tedious and slow, a stretch on his torso and back that will never disappear. He pays the scars, or maybe one big scar is more appropriate, little mind these days. Now however, he muses over Gabriel’s potential response and traces the scar tissue that makes up half of his body, burns on the upper, cuts and avulsions on the lower. He shakes his head and pulls a sweatshirt over his disfigured thorax, at least he can hide that if not the cuts on his face brow to chin and cheek to lip.   
_  
_ _R.Eaper wrote at 21:08_ _  
_ _Who says I’m not working? Sombra just came home btw. You still at work?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Soldier76 wrote at 21:12_ _  
_ _You are certainly not right now. And no, just off._ _  
_ _  
_ _R.Eaper wrote at 21:14_ _  
_ _Kennedystreet 413. It’s a small bar you can’t miss it._ _  
_ _  
_ _Soldier76 wrote at 21:16_ _  
_ _Is this some roundabout invitation?_ _  
_ _  
_ _R.Eaper wrote at 21:17_ _  
_ _… Maybe._ _  
_ _  
_ _R.Eaper wrote at 21:30_ _  
_ _Yes. Yes, it is._ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ As Gabriel said, the bar is indeed small. Cozy would be another word if it weren’t for the two high rise buildings appearing to crush the small one story thing. Someone had made a wood sign and painted “High Noon Bar” in gold letters. The tables outside are not occupied. Too cold still for a drink at night.   
  
Jack stares at the dim light inside and recognizes that there isn’t much to be seen. the windows are covered by curtains in black and ginormous cacti in varying shapes and states of survival have taken their place on the windowsill. One of them especially, usually one of the straight ones, tilts dangerously to the side and Jack wonders when the last time it saw any water was.

 

The door opens with the jingle of several bells tied to a rope and a small group of people emerges. Jesse’s age, probably, and as he squints he can make out the young man under a cowboy hat. Jesse spots him a second later and waves enthusiastically with his right arm.   
  
“Howdy!” he calls across the street and the youths seem to snicker. One of them points at Jack and giggles. He rolls his eyes and raises his hand a little in greeting, no escape now that he’s been spotted. He asks himself if this is really what he wants.   
  
_You still want his friendship you dumbass, make amends._ His mind, ever so helpful.   
  
“Hello Jesse,” he greets as the youths have shuffled down the street quite a bit. “Nice get up.” he remarks and a smirk plays around his lips, stretching the dry skin a bit too much.   
  
“I’ll have ya know the Stetson is a trademark and right back at ya!” Jesse grins and point at Jack’s feet. Oh, right. The socks.   
  
“Mixed the wrong colors,” he explains and scratches his neck. Pink socks meant nothing at work but among normal people….. he sighs and follows Jesse, who beckons him indoors.   
  
The inside is a little bit cluttered. A U.S flag on the far right next to a flat screen showing some sports game. Some guys are watching the play from one of the several booths separated by bamboo fences. The tables are wooden as well, though Jack can’t say much for the state of cleanliness as the light is dim and everything is so… dark. He blinks several times to adjust to the change in lighting with little success.   
  
Hunting trophies, plants, posters and the bar at the far left, everything is either held in, or placed in dark wood or black stone. The bar has a skull misused as a snack bowl and now that Jack looks at the drink of a customer, the ice cubes are in that form too.   
  
“Like it?” Jesse asks beside him.   
  
“It’s….” He stops and eyes the plants dangling dangerously from the ceiling next to a big ass ventilator. “Cozy,” he finishes and frowns a little.   
  
“Well, that’s what happens when you leave interior design to Sombra n’ Gabe,” Jesse says and laughs.   
  
“Don’t listen to that ingrate.” Jack turns to his left where Gabriel has appeared out of nowhere. All black, dress shirt and leather pants that fit his thighs snugly and a white towel stuck in the belt loop.

 

Jack swallows and flushes. The shirt is opened a little and he can see some of the sweat collecting… he shakes his head.  
  
“He picked those damn cacti and the name. High Noon, my ass, _saloon_ went too far I tell you.” Gabriel continues and eyes him wearily.

  
“It’s tacky I tell ya,”, Jesse retorts.

 

Jack steps back a little to leave room for the conversation. Gabriel’s gaze follows him and he feels strangely exposed and out of place.   
  
“It’s called taste, kid,” Gabriel grumbles.

 

He turns to Jack, who notices the way the shirt stretches over every inch of muscle. The ground is suddenly much more interesting as are his pink socks. Jack wriggles his toes in the worn out no-name sneakers.   
  
“What the hell is with those socks?” Gabriel asks, having taken note of them the moment Jack looked down. A keen observer.   
  
“Mixed em in the washing machine. An accident,” he explains.

 

Gabriel gapes, then shakes his head. “Can’t believe this, Morrison,” he mumbles.

 

Jack is about to respond with an offended sound when Gabriel grabs him by the arm. A pulsing schock runs through Jack and he pulls away in a flash, wide eyed he stares at the spot where Gabe’s hand had been a moment prior.  
  
“Oh man, sorry, should've asked,” Gabriel says and there is something wide about his eyes that is apologetic but also looking rejected at once.

 

Jack’s hearts falls and he shakes his head. “No, it’s my fault. Just…” he shrugs and rubs his arm. “Not used to it.”   
  
Gabriel nods, understanding and crosses his arms.   
  
“Anyway, welcome to the High Noon Bar, not saloon, bar. A little family business. The AC is currently broken and someone vomited on the floor half an hour ago but still, make yourself comfortable.” He leads them towards the bar where a lone figure sits and nurses their drink.   
  
The broken AC explains the sweat and stuffy air and Jack looks at the ventilator with a raised eyebrow.   
  
“That’s a prop,” Jesse explains and flops down next to Jack while Gabriel settles himself behind the bar. The raised eyebrow remains and Jesse shrugs, points to Gabriel and shakes his head. Message received. Jack nods   
  
“So what can I get you?” Gabriel asks, uninjured arm poised on the black stone surface of the bar.

 

He blends in quite well with his get-up Jack must admit. He himself sticks out like a sore thumb: pastel green polo shirt, faded light blue jeans and yes, the pink socks in old, worn out blue sneakers. He can feel the stares all over the bar, even though it is half empty right now.   
  
“Water please,” he answers and a second later an ice cold glass with little skull ice cubes finds its way in front of Jack. Gabriel and Jesse both look at him expectantly and Jack walks down small talk alley, his least favorite street.   
  
“You own this place?”

 

The grins that spreads across Gabriel’s face is worth the question. It’s proud and it’s so the old Gabriel that Jack can’t help but smile back as past and present blend into another.  
  
“All mine. Ours,” Gabriel says and he strokes the black stone counter fondly. If any of the patrons find it weird, they do not comment on it. “When I came back, I only had my savings and two kids. Ana’s been a lifesaver.”   
  
The figure hunched over next to Jack stirs and turns their head. The first thing Jack notices are the massive bags under the woman’s eyes. The second is he knows her, vaguely. It’s the woman with the hijab from the hospital.   
  
“Hello,” she says and squints a little, when, a second later her eyes widen.   
  
“Oh it’s you!” she says and there is a hint of an accent in her voice that Jack can’t place.   
  
“You know Ana?” Both Jesse and Gabriel ask in unison while Ana snickers. Before Jack can respond, she explains their meeting at the hospital, surprisingly in less than a minute.   
  
“Anyway, I am Ana Amari _._ Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She holds out her hand and Jack shakes it, surprised by the cool skin despite the room’s temperature.   
  
“Jack Morrison. Likewise.”

 

Something flashes across the woman’s eyes and her lips curve downward a bit but it is hidden a second after by the dark brown drink she rises to her lips. Her eyes do not leave his face however and Jack turns to Jesse, slightly uncomfortable.  
  
“Ana is the one who recommended this place actually,” Gabriel says and wipes down a scotch glass.

 

He looks content, happy even and something twitches in Jack’s stomach. Envy? He swirls the ice cubes around and frowns.

  
“She introduced me to this place. A friend of hers wanted to sell,” Gabriel continues and refills Ana’s glass. Jack can’t make out the label but it appears to be some kind of darker wine.   
  
“And look what he made of it,” Ana says and heaves an exasperated sigh.

 

Gabriel only rolls his eyes.   
  
The rest of the evening passes in a similar manner. Friendly banter and embarrassing stories from the military. Jack is surprised he takes it well, the alcohol from the beer he ordered at least might have had a hand in it as he recalls the story when he ripped his pants on the field and tried to fix it with super glue. He smiles and laughs and there is no fire and smoke.   
  
Jack wishes it could always remain that way.   
  
Yet, he knows, once he is back home in his bed, the nightmares might return and no good memory can stop that. He bids Gabriel Ana and Jesse goodbye well beyond midnight and hopes, hopes a little bit that this night might be a calm one. 

 

 

  
  
The next days pass easily and between work, sleep and messaging Jack has little time to ponder upon this new kind of relationship that has formed between Gabriel and him. Jesse and Sombra keep messaging him as well and to be frank he is not sure what to make of it.   
  
Gabriel complains about the patrons, Jesse complains about the lack of cowboy memorabilia, Sombra complains about boredom. Jack smiles as he closes the last message containing the picture of a dead cactus and leans back.   
  
Days off are by far less than ideal for him. Jack always has too much time to think and not enough motivation to do anything productive, thus the shelves are gathering dust and dishes are collecting in the sink. He stares at them from his small couch and closes his eyes. Later. It’s always later.   
  
The phone vibrates on his chest once more.   
  
_R.Eaper wrote at 13:24_ _  
_ _You busy?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Soldier76 wrote at 13:25_ _  
_ _Not particularly. Why?_ _  
_ _  
_ _R.Eaper wrote at 13:27_ _  
_ _Meet me at the dog park at two?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Soldier76 wrote at 13:30_ _  
_ _Sure._ _  
_ _  
_ His plans to just sleep the day away just thrown overboard he pulls on a jacket and heads out. Admittedly he does not regret having something to do and he ends up ten minutes early. He fiddles with his hair as he waits for Gabriel to arrive, the metal bench uncomfortable on his buttocks.   
  
“You’ve been waiting long?” A deep voice asks in front of him him.

 

Jack’s head whips up swiftly, almost headbutting Gabriel who has bent down in front of him. Wide-eyed Jack stares up at the other whose hands are held up defensively.  
  
“I’m sorry!” Jack says, flabbergasted and Gabriel shakes his head.   
  
“No, it’s okay. Thought you had noticed me, sorry.”

  
Jack stares up and shakes his head. He takes a deep breath and gets up and it is then that Jack notices the new haircut. A buzzcut to be precise and he gapes.   
  
“Your hair.” Jack blinks several times and his hand twitches to touch it. He wonders if it is still as soft as back then. He stuffs the hand in his pocket with force and hopes the heat rising to his cheeks is not a flush. He always blushed too easily, something he had been constantly reminded of in his military days and a source of endless amusement for his peers.   
  
Gabriel doesn’t comment on that; instead he runs a hand through what remains of his hair and smiles almost bashfully? Jack looks again but the hint of expression is gone as fast as it came.   
  
“Wasn’t like I let it grow out on purpose,” he says and scoffs. “Do you know how hard it was to get my beard back in form? No? Good. Very hard, I tell you.”   
  
“At least they didn’t shave it off.” Jack says and Gabriel glowers at him.   
  
“They are lucky they didn’t.” Gabriel strokes his beard thoughtfully.

 

Jack tries to concentrate on something else that the little scars that litter his face or those that remain of the skin grafts. Those, at least, weren’t his fault.  
  
“You ok with getting some food first? I’m starving,” Gabe says.   
  
  
  


Once they’ve finally decided on a small food joint Gabriel digs in immediately. Jack has no problem watching the other eat with gusto as he picks at his fries. The mayonnaise is greasy and the fries crisp but Jack finds his appetite is less than stellar. Instead he nurses his coke and sticks one of the fries in his mouth here and there.  
  
They aren’t the same as back then and Jack questions his ability to return to that friendship as it was. He also questions his ability to keep a friendship at all when he catches himself staring at Gabriel’s lips a little longer than necessary.   
  
“What’s up?” The proverbial devil asks. Jack shakes his head as the other man points at his fries. “They taste terrible?” he asks.

 

Jack grunts, sticks another in his mouth. “No. Not really hungry I guess.”   
  
“You could’ve said no.”

  
Jack chuckles and flicks a fry on Gabriel’s spicy chicken. The incredulous look of indignation he gets is worth it.   
  
“And let you starve? What kinda medical professional would I be?”   
  
Gabriel just stares at him and Jack feels exposed until he looks down at his meal. The gaze is still there however. Jack knows and he is about to ask when Gabriel sighs audibly and Jack lift his head. Gabriel has his hand folded and chin placed on them as he’s staring Jack down.   
  
“You’re too thin,” Gabriel states and spoons another mouthful of whatever sauce they served with the chicken.

 

Some of it sticks to the corner of his mouth and Jack wants to wipe it off. he shakes his head and concentrates back on the topic. He is not at the height of physical fitness, sure, but Jack never considered himself thin. Thus he turns his expression into a frown.  
  
“I’m okay,” he mutters. He sticks another fry into his mouth  for good measure. Not like he has anything to prove, yet the observation has not gone past him. He is not a young soldier anymore after all.   
  
“Sure. You could use some extra pounds ‘s all I am saying,” says Gabriel. The slight crease on his forehead remains. He wipes the sauce from his mouth and Jack sighs a little in relief. To Gabriel it appears to carry another notion as he continues.   
  
“I am not motherhenning you, Jack. It’s just…. We both went through similar things and yet you don’t seem to have moved on at all, why?”   
_  
_ Jack opens his mouth and closes it right after. How is he supposed to explain? He deserves it and if he does not remember his fallen comrades (fallen because of his faults after all) then who will? He does the most diplomatic motion he can think of. He shrugs.

 

Gabriel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. A moment of silence stretches between them and Jack resumes to poking in his fries.

 

“What about you?” It comes out of his mouth before he can stop it and Jack wants to slap himself. The bitterness is evident.  
  
“What about me?”

 

Jack doesn’t answer.

 

Gabriel sighs again and runs through his buzz cut.  
  
“It wasn’t easy. I’ll just say the kids played a big part and I HAD to get my shit together. For them,” Gabriel explains.

 

Jack feels like a dick, shame flushes his face stark red and contact with the table is imminent as he tries to hide his expression by staring down.

  
“When I got out of there, if one of you made it I swore to myself I’d keep contact, I’d help them if only it meant I wasn’t the only survivor.” He spits the word like a curse and looks Jack deep in the eyes “Lucky it was you.”

 

 _Lucky?_ Jack scoffs. “Sure didn’t seem lucky to me.”   
  
“I’m only human Jack. How did you expect me to react?”  
  
Gabriel is still staring at him and the bile rises in Jack’s throat at the thought that Gabriel could always return to hating him. It’s scary and Jack doesn’t want it.  
  
“I’m okay, Gabriel. Really,” he says and manages a small smile as he takes a sip from the liquid cavities.

 

Gabriel leans back, less than convinced and mutters something into his beard that Jack can’t make out.   
  
“Jesse and Sombra like you, you know,” Gabriel says after a while and huffs. “Don’t know why. Your sense of fashion is still terrible.”   
  
“It is not meant to be fashionable. It’s practical.”   
  
“Crocs are not practical, Jack.”   
  
They eat the rest of their meal without added emotional discomfort and agree to head back to the dog park where they end up watching the fluffy balls of energy hopping around. It is strangely calming and Jack finds himself regretting his work hours. A dog is out of question.   
  
“I used to come here with Jesse and Sombra in the beginning,” Gabriel says and points at the playground to the right where some kids are playing tag of some kind. “Until we found out that the terrible rashes all over Jesse’s body were caused by an allergy to dogs. Poor kid, he loves the fuckers.”   
  
Jack snorts and asks, “how long till you figured it out?”   
  
“A month? Well, maybe two.”   
  
“Poor guy,” Jack says. He leans back on the bench, their shoulders bump but neither of them pulls back. They spend several minutes in comfortable silence and Jack closes his eyes, tiredness catching up to him. The last thing that crosses his mind is that he doesn’t mind the arrangement as it is before silence engulfs him like a blanket.

 

Movement to his right startles him awake and he flinches just before he realizes that he must have dozed off.  
  
“Sorry, you were about to keel over,” Gabriel explains.

 

Jack nods,not yet among the land of living. He hums and closes his eyes once more, rubs them. As he opens them this time the world has become more prominent than before.  
  
“‘S okay,” he slurs and yawns, dimly aware of the pair of eyes fixed on him as he proceeds to regain his state of wakefulness. “How long was I out?” he asks and squints in the distance where the sun is still in the sky.   
  
“About half an hour give or take. Makes it close to four PM.”

  
Jack notices the stare Gabriel gives him. Focused and contemplative maybe, Jack cannot interpret it and it irks him.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Nothing,” Gabriel says, a little to quickly and Jack frowns.   
  
“I’m sorry for falling asleep, really. I didn’t mean to,” Jack says.   
  
“I’m sure you needed it,” Gabriel replies. “I’ll have to go now though, the bar opens at half past five. Want me to drop you off?”   
  
There is an elating sensation in his stomach as Gabriel asks him with sincerity. His intestines tying knots and knots and- _get a fucking grip_.

  
He shakes his head and smiles and he swears he sees Gabriel’s expression _fall_ but that is surely because he has this white knight complex after the explosion and Jack shakes his head once more.   
  
“No, thank you. It’s not far.” Simple, professional, distanced. Good job.   
  
“If you are sure…”

 

It  might be his sleep addled mind but Jack wants to touch the creases in that forehead, draw them apart. He bites his cheek and shuffles awkwardly. “See you, then?” he says and tries to keep a hopeful tune out of his voice.  
  
“Yeah, see you.”   
  
Real smooth, Morrison. Once at home he buries his face in his pillow to force away the embarrassment. Jack thinks he might be crushing on Gabriel Reyes.   
  
  


  
Doc_ _Mercy wrote at 12:08_ _  
_ _Why don’t you ask him out, then? I believe in you \o/_ _  
_ _  
_ Jack stares at the messages for a few more seconds until the letters start to swim. Then he shuts of the screen and puts it in his back pocket. If it only was as easy as Angela made it seem. They had a less than stellar past after all.   
  
Still, when he spots Gabriel, slightly dishevelled, jogging towards him, Jack can’t help but smile. They had been meeting several times in the past few weeks and he could admit that they were comfortable around each other by now.

  
It wasn’t the same as back in the military but they weren’t that young anymore either, were they?   
  
“Hope you didn’t wait too long.”   
  
Jack shakes his head no and they proceed to the park, the distance is just right for both of them and thus turning into one of their favorite locations to meet up. Jack never thought he would ever look forward to walks in the park, a boring activity really, but these days he didn’t mind. No loud noises and not to many people, it was quite relaxing.   
  
This time around, they were surprised by a downpour and found themselves wet to the bones.   
  
“Aw, fuck,” Gabriel curses and Jack would agree were he not busy wiping the water out of his face. Running hadn’t been an option with his knee and when he had explained to Gabriel, the look had said everything. White knight, his ass.   
  
“You wouldn’t have gotten wet if you ran ahead like I told you to,” he grumbles while the rain keeps running into his eyes, blinding him temporarily.   
  
“No one left behind,” Gabriel replies and grabs him by his arm.

 

The warm hand is a stark contrast to the cold wetness and Jack shivers as Gabriel pulls him along under a small bus stop. Jack looks at the other man, who is also soaking wet, and for a brief moment he wishes Gabe wore a shirt instead of a hoodie until he discards the thoughts. _Friends_ , he thinks very hard, not potential relationship material.

  
Gabriel stares at him for a long moment, opens his mouth and draws a hissing breath.

 

Jack frowns and looks down on himself. White shirt, oh right.  
  
“Good thing, I don’t wear the secret bra, right?” he says jokingly and pulls on the fabric that clings to his skin. Gabriel just hums. He looks up again to find that the other man is staring intently at the bus information and he reaches a decision.   
  
“Since we are all wet now. I live a five minute walk away…. We can dry off there?”   
  
Gabriel whips around so fast that Jack takes a step back in surprise. He raises an eyebrow.   
  
“You said you left your car to Jesse today so…”

 

“Ah…” Gabriel says and Jack swears he can hear the gears running at the speed of a snail. “Yes that's….” He pauses, snorts. “Fuck, yes. I’ve had enough sick days to last a lifetime.”  


  
  
  
  
  


Once in front of his apartment door, Jack is not so sure about his idea anymore. The pitying stare Gabriel had thrown him when they had reached the desolate apartment complex (upturnt garbage cans, graffiti and the sound of loud arguing from one of the dirty windows.) has him scratching his neck. He apologizes but Gabriel tells him he doesn’t mind. Jack isn’t convinced.

 

Now however, they are about to step into his home, a one room apartment Jack himself is responsible for and he already dreads Gabriel’s reaction. He remembered Angela being uncomfortable last time she came over.

 

Had he taken out the trash? There was probably dust collecting everywhere and his clothes strewn across the floor, he just hadn't gotten around to cleaning it yet and the dishes were surely developing their own subculture by now.

 

He sighs and runs through his dripping wet hair.

 

“It’s not clean,” he explains when Gabriel shuffles behind him, no doubt impatient to get out of the wet clothes. He opens the door which makes the sound of a cat driven over twice. The air is musty and Jack already regrets his decision to invite Gabriel in who pushes past him into the flat.

 

“Shoes on or off?”

 

“On.” Jack mutters absentmindedly as he tries to ignore the trash he intended to put out but forgot when he left. Or the lack of decoration his home provides. He closes the door to the kitchen and hopes Gabriel hadn’t noticed the pile of dishes.

 

“I’m not home that much,” he explains while his stomach does a flip flop when Gabriel discards of his hoodie. The shirt underneath pronounces the fit physique of the man in all the right places.  Jack halts and swallows, licks his cracked lips.  
  
“It’s ok, I got two kids wreaking havoc at home,” Gabriel says and bundles up the hoodie.   
  
“Let me just get… a towel and something for you to wear.” Jack says and is surprised his voice doesn’t crack.

 

It isn’t fair, that Gabriel managed to stay in form even beyond a hospital stay. Just unfair. He dives into the bathroom and digs out a towel and shirt plus sweatpants that had been drying on the laundry rack.  
  
He finds Gabriel back in the living room, still soaked through the bone. He’s staring out the window for the lack of anything to see in the room itself.   
  
“Put them on the couch,” Jack says and Gabriel starts, turns around. There is a slight line between his brows but Jack doesn’t get to ask as it vanishes a second after.   
  
“Yeah, thanks.”

 

Jack nods and heads back to the bathroom to get out of his own clothing. It takes longer than usual, the cold having stiffened his strained joints and he is just out of his shirt when the door barges open and Gabriel stands there and just stares.   
  
“Uh. The shirt’s too small,” he eventually says while he traces Jack’s scars, the ones covering half of his body. He can hear the sharp intake when Gabriel find the particularly nasty scar on his hip, all taut and whiter than skin has any right to be.   
  
He feels the heat rise to his cheeks, neck and shoulders and barely chokes out an “out.” He closes the door in the other man’s face without another word and sinks his back against the cool wood.   
  
_Count 1, breathe, 2, breathe, 3 breathe._ _  
_ _  
_ He doesn’t know how long he is at this, the count repeating after ten, all he knows it has been several times he thought _10_ and _inhaled, exhaled._   
  
He didn’t want Gabriel to see, not him not anyone. It’s repulsive and Jack himself used to feel like puking anytime he stared too long at the welling scars. His skin looked like it had gone through a meat grinder. A constant reminder of  what crushing concrete could do to man.   
  
He can hear bones breaking.   
  
Cold sweat collects on his neck while his innards do somersaults and he forces himself through the breathing exercises anew. All the while he tries to think of why, why, _why_ . Dr. Tekhartha told him communicate, to leave room for his feelings. Jack only knows it is damn hard to do so and he stays on the ground for a while after his breaths have calmed.   


When he returns to the living room a while later not only is he surprised by the calm in his voice but also by the reaction he garners after he says:  
  
“I don’t want your pity and I don’t want you here because of some fucking promise you made to yourself.”   
  
And Gabriel jumps up in indignation, all bare-chested yet intimidating. And although he takes a step back Jack has this strange sense of relief, a torn spiderweb being carefully plucked from him. It’s liberating.   
  
Gabriel’s fire burns however and he takes another step back when the man approaches him. He breathes rage and Jack flinches when one hand makes a motion to grab him before he balls his fist for potential retaliation. Old habits die hard.   
  
Next he knows Gabriel’s shoulders have gone slack and he is pinching the bridge of his nose.

  
“Is that what you think,” Gabriel says. No question mark, a statement. Neither of them say anything for a moment and Jack shivers, despite the dry shirt and pants he is wearing.   
  
“I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you,” Gabriel says and chuckles darkly, a tone most would take offense to but Jack recognizes it as the dark humor his friend always carried around with a pinch of salt. “You think I would put up with all this shit if it was Adams? Rosa? Goddamn, Morrison.” Gabriel shakes his head and snorts.   
  
“Fuck no. You were my best friend, Jack.” He draws closer, bitter smile on his lips, gone a millisecond later.   
  
“Were?” Jack echoes, knot tying around his stomach and squeezing, the past tense murderous on his emotion of hope. He inhales, exhales as he waits for the answer that might just as well be a hammer.   
  
“Are we now?” Gabriel runs a hand through his shorn hair. “You keep holding me at arm's length.”

 

A shiver runs down Jack’s back and he grabs his right arm, rubs it, a comforting gesture to himself only.   
  
“Aren’t you still angry?” he bites, arms falling slack at his sides, defeated. “You should be. I fucked it all up.” _and I’m sorry, but sorry doesn’t fix what’s broken_.

 

Gabriel’s face draws blank and he growls. “I wasn’t angry at you,” he says and fixes Jack with a stern look. “I was angry at what they made of you. What they made you _do_ and _believe.”_

 

Gabriel explains this with a ferocity that catches Jack off guard and he draws nearer, a hands width between them. Jack can feel the warmth of Gabriel’s breath on his skin, damp and rhythmic. In another situation he might have reached out for a kiss but this, this isn’t appropriate. Gabriel never thought of him that way, always a person with little respect for personal space. Never intentional though, never.  
  
“I don’t want to see you like this.”  

 

Jack wants to tell him to shove his pity somewhere the sun doesn’t shine, curious however, he asks. Hopes. “Like what?” It comes out harsher than intended, clipped.

 

Gabriel reacts with a scowl. “Have you looked at your apartment lately, Jack.?” He makes a wide motion. “It’s barren.”  He does not comment on the state of disarray, the empty bag of chips on the couch table or the layer of dust covering everything less used.

 

Jack crosses his arms, does not want to give in, can’t show anymore weakness towards a man upon whom he inflicted unhealable scars.  
  
“I don’t need much.”

 

Jack doesn’t like the shift in his own voice, petulant and defensive. His apartment is shit, he knows. Having it pointed out by another person however was a different matter altogether.

  
“Do you really?”

 

If Jack were to describe the way Gabriel is staring at him right now, the word intense made up a big portion of it. The breath is still hot on his chin, it must be the same for Gabriel so why isn’t he pulling back?

 

Jack opens his mouth the second “Paint it Black” blares from the pockets of Gabriel’s pants. He flinches away, cheeks darkening as he fumbles for his phone. Jack is left with the fluttering of his heart, back against the wall. His tongue feels thick and dry and he swallows. Waits.   
  
He recognizes the voice of Sombra through the speaker, she sounds distraught.  “Papí, there’s something wrong with Jesse.”   
  
The change in Gabriel is instant. Gone is every inch of softness as the hard worry takes over his features. These kind of situations are familiar to Jack; he can work with this. He takes a deep breath.   
  
“Let me get you a bigger shirt,” he says. Gabriel nods, distracted while Jack grabs a penlight, just in case, a habit, and a slightly bigger shirt. It’ll have to do.   
  


  
He doesn’t recall getting into the cab nor the way they took as he is on the phone instructing Sombra to check for a pulse — which exists, thank god — and breathing as well as making sure Jesse doesn’t choke on his tongue or vomit. All the while he encourages her, tells her she is doing well while Gabriel is urging the driver to hurry up.   
  
“No hospital,” he had said and left it at that and although Jack isn't satisfied with the decision, he respects the other man’s choice.     
  
When they arrive, Jesse is on a dark black leather couch, groaning but not as bad as Jack expected. He sighs in relief while Gabriel is already next to the young man and talking to him rapidly. He spots Sombra at the feet of the couch, face serious but relatively calm now that her guardian has arrived. She shoots Jack an apprehensive look, then turns to Gabriel.   
  
“He smells like alcohol.”   
  
Jack can’t see his face but the sound of Gabriel’s voice is frustrated, tired. Jack feels like he is intruding on something and regrets his choice to follow. Thought he could do something for Gabriel once, what a joke. There was more to it than a drunk as skunk young man.   
  
“I can check on him if you want me to,” he says anyway. He approaches carefully, scared of startling the fragile constellation the family has built, a frailty he is made all too aware of when Gabriel hesitates.   
  
“Yeah. Sure…” he says, voice thick. Then turns to Sombra. “You did well, _mija_ . I’m so proud.”   
  
The girl shrugs, then stands up slowly. “I’ll head to bed then, school tomorrow,” she says, voice shrill.

 

Jack is sure she isn’t going to sleep all that soon. He stares at her retreating form, only remembering his offer once her head of short hair has vanished behind the  door to their right.  
  
“Did you take any drugs?” he asks and Jesse moans, shakes his head a tiny fraction. Jack shines his penight into the eyes to be sure and strokes a sweaty strand away from the forehead. At least the boy seems to be telling the truth.   
  
“He should drink a lot of water,” Jack says and frowns. “And he will probably vomit, so a trashcan maybe?”

 

Gabriel is up and back in under a minute with the requested items.   
  
“Already did,” Jesse mumbles and pulls a face when Gabriel pushes the opened bottle of water into his mouth but drinks anyway. Another worry less at least, the boy is compliant and albeit slow there is some vigilance left.

 

Jack pulls back a little, hisses at the strain the kneeling had put on his knee.   
  
“Well, not enough apparently,” Gabriel grumbles and sighs in relief while the boy gulps down the water.

 

Jack stares at the rough hand caressing the forehead tenderly and there is that crack in his heart again. He closes his eyes, thinks.  
  
“Oh,” he says very quietly to himself, the other two unable to hear as he finally recognizes the visceral pains and itches for what they are.  
  
_I love him._  
  
The breath catches in his throat and he takes a step back, stares at the beautiful (is Gabriel making it beautiful? _yes_ ) picture before him. Back then too, before all went to shit, there was more between them than camaraderie on Jack’s side, he remembers now.  
  
Gabriel, always watching out for them. Who could make a joke that would make everyone laugh, who stood up for them in front of the officials.   
  
_I loved him._

  
  


Gabriel spins around as if sensing the change and frowns. “You’re not planning to walk back in that rain.” he says and it sounds more like an order than a question.   


Jack shakes his head. “Jesse is alright now, I should—”

  
“The fuck you should. If it’s about work, I can drive you round tomorrow,” Gabriel snaps and Jack starts. Gabe’s expression softens somewhat after that. “It’s raining, your knee’s busted and don’t look at me like that. It takes an idiot not to notice, and it’s late. Take my bed, I’m not gonna sleep tonight anyway.” The last sentence is spent with a gaze at Jesse who takes this moment to vomit in the trash can.   
  
“I don’t want to intrude—” Jack begins but Gabriel shuts him down with a glare. He knows that one from their army days. The tingling sensation intensifies and Jack sighs. “Where?”

 

Gabriel points to the door next to Sombra’s room and nods sterny. Jack thinks he can still sort out his feelings tomorrow, or have a mental breakdown, whatever. He realizes, as he takes in the mahogany sheets and the smell of a freshly made bed, how tired he actually is and it takes few minutes for him to sink into sleep, the smell of just Gabriel a comfort he’d longed for ages ago.  
  
In his dreams, someone strokes his head and hums a song his mother used to sing. It is so peaceful that Jack wants to cry once his eyes adjust to the dim light in the bedroom.   
  
He blinks several times and recalls the events of — looks at the clock, barely five AM — last evening. He buries his nose in the soft pillow and breathes in the scent of Gabriel, aftershave, a hint of pine and a rich note that is just _him._   
  
A few moments later curiosity and inner restlessness force him out of the soft covers and his bare feet hit soft carpet. Something he’d failed to notice yesterday. There is a desk with a few pictures on it, the light filing in through the window enough to make him recognize at least one of them, their unit. Jack avoids it and quickly dresses into the clothes from yesterday, slightly damp still.   
  
When he opens the door, the couch is empty. No trash can either and only two empty bottles of water. There is light coming from an open door however and Jack follows it. It’s the kitchen with Gabriel in it who is nursing a coffee. He looks up when Jack enters and attempts to smile, it’s more of a grimace.   
  
“Coffee?”

 

Jack nods and sits down on one of four plastic chairs. He reaches for the steaming cup immediately and thanks Gabriel quietly who also returns to his seat.  
  
“I want to talk,” Gabriel says and Jack can’t do anything but nod again.

 

He is starting to feel like one of those car dolls, always nodding.  
  
“Yesterday…” Gabriel starts and clutches his own cup so hard, Jack is afraid it might break. “It’s not Jesse’s fault. Not at all, he’s a good kid. A little shit but good nonetheless.”   
  
Jack nods again for lack of anything to say.   
  
“When I came back, I wasn’t in a good place. Then my sis goes off and dies, just like that.” He makes a motion with his free hand and Jack frowns. “Started drinking. A lot.”   
  
Jack knows where this leads. Has seen it a lot.   
  
“Sombra was still young, I don’t know how much she remembers or if she just chooses not to, but Jesse caught the full force.” Gabriel takes a deep breath. “Imagine your parents die and you get sent to a drunk ass vet you’ve never seen before. You haul him home, take care of your sister… I would do it differently now but can’t change it, can I?”   
  
Jack nods.   
  
“I don't know, he started hanging with the wrong crowd at one point and it was basically Ana who told me to get my shit together or else I’d lose custody. And I did get my shit together but it doesn’t change what I did to the kids.”   
  
“Jesse told me he owed you.”

 

Gabriel laughs, bitter. “He did didn’t he? Suddenly I had to make sure he went to school, got food and a proper job. Don’t know where he got that forgiving streak from, not from his uncle.”

 

 _You’re wrong,_ Jack thinks but does not interrupt as Gabriel continues. _  
  
_

"He thinks I got him out of that. But I got him  in it in the first place." Gabriel sighs and the lines of worry deepen. "Doesn't help he's lost his arm and I get the boy, I do. I'm just." Gabriel takes a deep breath. "I don't want him to go down the same road."

 

He doesn't continue and stares at his coffee. Jack lets this go on for a moment before he decides to reach for his hand. It's dry and rough and he rubs his thumb along the back tentatively. Gabriel looks at him wide eyed and Jack manages a smile.

 

"Hey," he pauses, thinks carefully, continues, "Jesse is a great young man. Hell, we wouldn't be talking without him." He scratches his neck with his free hand and stares down at the black liquid in front of him. He huffs and smiles. Gabriel is still frowning, the lines still prominent.

 

"Remember the time I got drunk at base and hugged the toilet all night? He makes his own mistakes, I'd just trust him,” Jack says.

 

"He's right," a third voice adds and Jack whips around, let's go of the hand.

 

Jesse looks like anyone with a hangover would. Sickly, squinty eyed and with a scowl that could frighten little children. He leans against the doorframe and fixes Jack with his stare, the man gets the hint and nods.This is a talk he is not meant to be part of. The chair whines against the kitchen tiles and Jesse winces before Jack leaves the room.

 

The door is closed behind him and he takes up camp on the couch. The room is more lived in than his own, pictures everywhere, a cupboard full of DVD and photographs on another. One picture in particular catches his attention. A younger Sombra, Jesse and Gabriel stare at him. They don't smile and Jesse even looks like he is about to cry. Not a photo Jack would display if asked.

 

He can't make out what is said in the kitchen, voices too muffled by the door. The emotions go a full range though until they seem peaceful at last. Jack sighs and closes his eyes, opens them again as the door to the kitchen blasts open.

 

"Don't mind me," Jesse mumbles and walks past him. "Gonna lay down some more." Another door closes and the living room is empty again.

 

"Thanks." It's Gabriel’s voice and Jack gets up again returns to the kitchen where Gabe stands and... waits?

 

Jack raises his eyebrows as the other man comes closer and the distance reminds him of the situation in his own apartment.

Gabe looks at him for a long hard second and Jack's breath stops when he says, "Punch me if I got this wrong."

 

Jack shakes his head, confused, slightly more when the other man grabs the back of his head and pulls him in for a a kiss.

 

Jack does not punch him.

 

His hand finds the short, soft _so inexplicably soft_ hair and he runs his hand through it. His heart feel like it's about to explode. It hammers against his ribcage trying to free itself.

 

Gabriel pulls back with a gasp, all wide eyed and Jack can't help the frustrated growl that bumbles up from his throat.

 

"Wait," Gabe asks and blinks. "You're okay with this?"

 

"I've been okay with this since the day you punched Frank in defense of my honor," he says and pulls Gabriel against himself, the scratch of the beard on his cheek exactly what he always wanted and never asked for.  
  
Gabriel is stock still and Jack looks at him questioningly, cocked eyebrow hiding his own insecurities,   


“You mean?” Gabe’s thumb traces his jaw and the hairs on his neck stand up.  
  
“Pretty much,” Jack says and smiles. His heart rate is accelerated and his breaths heavy.   
  
“Oh.” Gabe’s lips form the shape and Jack dives in for another kiss.The other man grabs his shoulder and pushes him against the wall, he finds the deep brown eyes again and his eyes flutter shut for a moment.   
  
“I love you, Gabe,” he says, the confession the weight of a freighter pulled off him and when he opens his eyes again Gabriel is smiling. A genuine smile is on Gabriel’s lips and Jack’s emotions skyrocket.   
  
“You dumb oaf. Couldn’t you have told me sooner,” Gabriel asks.   
  
“So you could make fun of me?” Jack retorts and the body in front of him stirs, two big hands find his shoulders, press down.   
  
“Jack Morrison,” Gabriel says, all solemn and shakes his head. “I crushed on your white boy ass the second you stepped into the room, you think I have any right to make fun of you?”   
  
Jack’s guts twist deliciously as he mock gasps and his right hand travels under Gabriel’s shirt, find muscular skin. “What? Not my face?”   
  
“Sorry Jack,” Gabe says and nuzzles Jack’s neck.

 

Jackgroans as a leg is shifted between his, aggravating the bulge in his pants. His left hand cups the clothed ass and by the jolt Gabriel reacts with, it’s the correct line of action and Jack squeezes to which the other man stifles a moan in his neck.  


“Room?” Gabriel asks, breath hot on his ear, as the man guides him away from the wall.

 

Jack nods and whines when the warm contact is broken, a slap on his ass guiding him in the right direction.   


Few steps into the bedroom and Gabe is upon him once more, the door shut with a kick of his leg and then his lips brush Jack’s, continue down to his neck and collarbone and nip at the soft skin there.  
  
Jack exhales and raises his arms as Gabriel hikes up the shirt and over his head.   
He is glad the light is dim; he is not quite comfortable yet with Gabriel seeing his scarred skin. Most days, he doesn’t like looking at them himself. He takes a step back and sinks down on the soft mattress, grabs the other man’s hips and slips his thumbs between hip bone and waistband while peppering kisses along dark skin.

  
The sweatpants fall down to Gabriel’s ankles and Jack admires the sight of well trained thighs. He sighs as he is pushed down gently by the shoulder and onto his back, the ceiling quickly obscured by the view of Gabriel who descends to kiss him tenderly.   
  
“Gabe,” he rasps and grabs for one leg, pulls it closer and groans into the other man’s mouth as it makes contact with Jack’s groin. He longs for more contact and fumbles with the other man’s shirt, still the one he lent Gabriel, a little tight, hard to take off. Impatient, he growls and Gabe chuckles, momentarily releasing his hands to help take the item off.

  
When he finally bares the torso of the other man Gabe halts in his action.

 _  
_ “Wait,” Gabriel says and the hand on skin contact is broken off.

 

Jack makes a  frustrated sound.

  
“You sure about this. This is not …” He fumbles for words and Jack can now recognize the darkening of the cheeks as a faint blush of embarrassment.   
  
Jack rolls his eyes and presses his own knee against the growing bulge in Gabe’s pants. The other man hisses and grabs the fly of Jack’s pants that feel too small, too confining.   


“No you’re neither the first, nor you’re-” he cuts off as one calloused hand takes hold of his dick and starts stroking.  
  
“I’m?” Gabriel whispers, breath tickling the shell of his ear.

 

Jack whimpers. He feels like he is about to melt against this man. He can barely believe himself to be so lucky. “The- Oh fuck, Gabe.”

 

A squeeze at the base and the breath hitches in his throat while the pleasure pools in his belly. He will not be able to hold out long if Gabriel continues like this.

 

“The?” Gabriel teases and bites into the soft flesh of his earlobe.

  
“Can you stop for a second I’m trying to—” he bites back a moan as the pace picks up and he pinches Gabriel’s thigh “—have a meaningful conversation here.”

 

Gabe actually stops and Jack finds the other man smirking as his other hand cups his chest and rubs the sensitive skin with his thumb. Nipple perking Jack hisses and bites his lower lip as he tries not to rock his dick into the warm cave Gabe’s hand forms.  
  
“When?” he murmurs against Jack’s neck who arches his neck back in reaction to the soft vibrations the words send through his skin in ripples.   
  
“Once I was discharged,” he answers and frowns when when Gabriel chuckles and pulls back, even in the scarce light Jack can make out the wide grin on his face. He whines at the loss of warmth and his body follows the lost heat, his dick erect and asking for more.   
  
“So Adams was right calling you a virgin,” he says.

 

Jack growls, displeased, an action followed by the only words he can think of right away.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“That is the plan,” the other man retorts and Jack grumbles yet doesn’t object when Gabriel reaches into the nightstand to pull out a bottle and a condom he throws on Jack’s exposed lap.   
  
“You or me?” he asks while Jack disposes of his pants and briefs. Gabriel fixes his gaze on him and he turns self conscious. He’d topped before but having Gabriel above him is—   
  
“You,” he says and his heart stutters when Gabriel descends upon him once more. Jack grabs the other man’s underwear and frees the half hard cock. It’s thick and Jack imagines the stretch it’ll produce. A wanton moan escaped his lips and he presses his forehead into the crook of Gabriel’s neck whose hands are travelling down in a slow and sensual pace. His left finds the blond’s thigh and guides it to rest on his waist  
  
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Gabriel cooes and his hand returns to the neglected, leaking cock, the other spurting some of the lube between his hand and Jack’s dick.   
  
The slick is cold and he hisses before Gabriel starts moving his hand and other thoughts take place. He grabs for Gabe’s hips and pulls him closer, feverish and thoughts hazed as another hand cups his asscheek. A second later a lubed and cold finger breaches his asshole.   
  
He hisses a little at the intrusion but focuses on relaxing as Gabriel hushes him and lavishes his chest with kisses until Jack has adjusted. Another finger enters soon after and Jack rakes his fingers across Gabriel’s back as these start to move. Gabriel’s fingers are not small and Jack finds himself digging his nails into the skin below.  
  
“Do I need to stop?” Gabe asks into his ear.

 

Jack vehemently shakes his head, plants a kiss on that collarbone in reach. The other man hums as he presses one thigh toward Jack’s chest for better access. All the while he continues whispering into his ear, things to calm him as the first burn is soon replaced by pleasure burning into his very core. Jack moans loudly as another finger is added and together they strike a bundle of nerves; he makes a strangled noise, blabbers something incoherent.   
  
“If you could see how hot you look right now,” Gabe mutters and there is a crease of concentration between his brows. He is gorgeous and Jack can’t believe this man wants him of a things. There is another pulse of pleasure when the fingers graze that spot again.   
  
Jack jerks in to the touch, presses against the hand holding him down, sighs when the fingers leave his quivering hole. His dick drips wet on his stomach and Gabe stares, transfixed.   
  
“Fuck me Gabe, please,” Jack says, bringing him back to reality and Gabe’s attention snaps back to him.   
  
“You sure?” Gabriel asks.

 

Jack nods, hands down on Gabriel’s ass, pulling him close. “Yes. Fuck, please. Fuck me.”   
  
Jack sees his eyes glaze over, lust evident as he lines his hard cock up with Jack’s ass. One hand holds his thigh steady and Jacks rolls a little on the side for better access. His left hand now holding onto the sheets instead of gluteal muscle. Gabriel has a perfect ass, he thinks when there is a slight of pressure on his hole.  
  
“Ok, **_cariño_** **.** I got you.”   
  
The tip of Gabriel’s cock finds his entrance and eases in slowly, allowing him time to adjust to the thick girth of his dick.   
  
“Oh god,” Jack mumbles once Gabriel is fully seated. It looked big but inside him it’s another matter, so much more than the three fingers that had spread him open for this.  
  
“No, just Gabe,” he replies.

 

Jack glares at him, over his shoulder, his second hand clasping the pillow over his head now. He has no chance to stay mad long because there is a hand on his dick, stroking him back to hardness while he adjusts to the size of Gabriel in him.  
  
Jack still can’t wrap his head around it fully.   
  
“Please,” he says and apparently that is all the incentive Gabriel needs to start moving within him. It’s slow, it’s sensual and not at all what Jack always imagined. It’s better.   
  
It’s better because it’s real.   
  
He feels the pleasure building up as Gabe keeps the thrusts and strokes rhythmic. Gabriel groans when Jack clenches down on him. Presses him down into the mattress and Jack is sure if not for his knee he would have turned on his stomach and let Gabriel just ram into him.   
  
“Jack.” Gabriel sighs, eyes full blown and wide and it’s such a turn on, his dick twitches in the other man’s hand. He’s getting closer.   
  
“I dreamed of this, Jack. You, beneath me, on me, in me, me in you. Like this writhing with pleasure.” Gabriel goes one as he angles just right to let stars explode in Jack’s vision. He hits the sweet spot again and Jack arches his back, moans.   
  
“Thought about how I could make you come. For so long. You’re so beautiful,” he rasped while Jack bites back another moan under him, angles his hip, thrusts back onto the dick penetrating him.   
  
“Gabe!” He whimpers just as his prostate his hit once more, he won’t be able to hold out much longer. How Gabriel manages to stay coherent is beyond him. Jack feels encased in pleasure, keens when a little pressure is added to the base.   
  
“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Gabe mutters and thrusts in once more, releasing, Jack just at the edge of orgasm as he pleads. The strokes on his cock regain their rhythmic pace and Jack cries out when it is just enough to make him spill.

  
Gabriel guides him through, whispering sweet words into his ear as he strokes and finally releases his hold.   
  
Both of them are panting, and the next thing he knows, the hold on his thigh is released and Gabriel collapses onto him. He hums, content and the vibrations carry over to Jack who runs a hand through his hair. It really is as soft as he imagined.   
  
“Keep doing that and I just might marry you,” Gabriel mumbles sleepily and Jack chuckles.

 

Somewhere along both of them fall asleep, sticky, something they might regret later. But in the morning, not right now, is what Jack thinks as he dozes off, hand still on Gabriel’s head.  


  


  
  
  
  
Light filters through the room when Jack blearily open his eyes. Gabriel is still out cold next to him, snoring softly. He observes the rise and fall of the bare chest and sighs.

  
Something he could get used to with a bit of time maybe. Someone else in the same bed, not waking up alone.   
  
A knock from the door startles him. “Breakfast in half an hour!” Jesse calls from the other side. It seems to have woken Gabriel as well, who yawns once and turns to face him. There are still significant bags under his eyes but he is smiling.   
  
“Morning, beautiful,” he mumbles, voice throaty and rough from sleep.

 

Jack’s lips turn up as well. “Morning Gabe.”   
  
“Jack,” Gabriel murmurs and his hand cups the blond’s jaw. “Don’t wanna let you go.”   
  
“You don’t have to if you’ll have this old back of spare parts,” Jack says and pecks a kiss on Gabriel’s chapped lips.   
  
“Heard they are of better quality anyway.” Gabriel grins and closes his eyes again.   
  
“Don’t know about that but are you sure we should keep Jesse waiting?” he asks, referring to the arm sneaking around his waist, pressing them against each other.   
  
“Mhhh,” Gabriel hums and his eyes lock onto his “He’s a grown ass boy. Can have breakfast alone.”   
  
“Forgot you were a grump in the mornings.” Jacks sighs and places his head on the other man’s shoulder. There is no answer, Gabriel has nodded off again.   
  
It gives Jack time to trace the scars that have faded, those that are new and others he never knew about. They both have them, and they will not heal within a day, or even a year. They leave traces, but Jack is not alone.

 

In this moment swears he will never let himself be alone again.

  
He has Angela and Genji, Jesse and Sombra and Gabriel at last and for once, that is enough.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  http://lifewhatisthat.tumblr.com/
> 
>  
> 
> This was a wild ride. I hope you enjoyed it. it was and experience for me at least. (My first nsfw scene I publish omg. milestone) Some things are left unresolved, some things will have to be answered for later. But that is it for this story. Thanks for sticking by me.
> 
>  
> 
> Don't forget to check out the art lifewhatisthat made for this chapter.
> 
> Special thanks to:  
> EdgeLady for betaing. 
> 
> and these lovely people : ) :
> 
> megsblackfire  
> Synteis  
> Ryxl
> 
> Your comments made my day! <3
> 
> Edit: I am sorry for not replying to every comment! (I am just too unorganized, it's entirely on me. I do adore every single one tho. even "omg I love this." <3 you are awesome.)


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